


Dead Zone

by VagrantWriter



Series: Ghosts [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Possession, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Elements of Theon/Ramsay, Euron is his own warning, Even Dead Ramsay is Still His Own Warning, F/F, F/M, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Cersei/Jaime incest, Minor Character Death, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Talking To Dead People, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 66,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8455423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: A year has passed since Project Greenseer was exposed and those responsible brought to justice. Jon is a private detective who can project his mind into animals. Theon is just Theon, and glad of it. As they settle into their relationship, dark forces and newly emerging psychics threaten to drag them back into a world of international espionage, illegal human medical testing, and a mafia boss with an eye on bringing about the end of the world.





	1. This: Skipping Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the first story, Ghost Town, check it out [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5139845/chapters/11828852).

The alarm clock went off and Jon woke to find a pair of blue-green eyes inches from his own. He jolted into full consciousness. “Gods, how long have you been _staring_ at me like that?”

“Since I woke up.” Theon sidled up closer, bringing his heat with him. “Only a few minutes, I swear.”

Jon wrapped his arms around his boyfriend—boyfriend, not something he ever thought he’d have—and pulled him as close as he could. It was getting colder out every day as winter settled in, as the snow began to pile up, but there was nothing like waking up to a warm body next to you. “It’s fine. Just a little creepy.”

“I like watching you sleep. You look happy.”

“Do I not look happy enough when I’m not asleep?”

Jon meant it as a joke, but the moment the words were out, the both of them froze and the moment became awkward. Although his physical therapist said his chances of being able to walk on his own were good, he still needed his cane to get around, even on good days. On bad days he had to take extra pills just to get out of bed, even though his doctors had warned him about the dangers of OxyContin dependence. And that was outside of the dreams where faceless surgeons were drilling into his brain.

And none of that took into account Theon’s bad days.

Theon stared at him a moment, then cracked a smile and nudged him. “Most of the time you’re just pouting.” He pulled a face that Jon supposed was meant to be an imitation, and not a flattering one: eyebrows drawn low over his eyes, lips pursed. “You always look like you’re trying to figure out where an annoying noise is coming from.”

Jon nudged him back. He loved this new Theon, who was confident and witty. The old Theon, the one he’d first fallen in love with, was still there too—brave, quietly conscientious, self-sacrificing, even if he would never describe himself that way. But it was bolstered now, evidenced by how quickly he took their minds off of what they were both thinking.

He was also a bit mischievous, evidenced by the way he grabbed Jon’s ass and squeezed. “So…plans for today?”

“Working.” Jon sat up and slowly began to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He felt about eighty years old. “New client coming in today. In about…” He checked the alarm clock. “An hour and a half. Want to grab breakfast somewhere?”

Theon glowered at him, and it wasn’t entirely in jest. “You’re taking on _another_ client?”

Of course he didn’t approve of Jon taking on such a heavy workload. But it wasn’t like…geez, it wasn’t like Jon was out there in the city on foot. On his _own_ feet, anyway.

“A lady called yesterday afternoon. She sounded pretty desperate.” Jon began to stand.

Theon wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist, trying to pull him back. “Then let her go to the police.”

He gently pried Theon off. “She said the police wouldn’t touch it.”

“You’re already working two other cases.” Theon sat up in bed. “Using your power that much…it wipes you out, Jon. I’ve seen it. Shit, I’ve _felt_ it.” His hand strayed to the back of his neck, where his inhibitor was. He did that sometimes. Jon figured it was a subconscious thing, since Theon never seemed to notice he was doing it. “You’re making enough money. You don’t need this case.”

“No, I don’t,” Jon agreed. He stood and his knee locked up. Oh, it was going to be one of _those_ days. “But once a cop, always a cop. I can’t just turn down someone in need.”

Theon folded his arms over his chest. “Oh, is that why you helped an escaped convict, Mr. Cop?”

Jon smiled as he reached for his cane. The wolf head pommel had become polished under his hand from months of use. “And look at how I got repaid for that. By a boyfriend who tries to guilt me into staying in bed all day.”

“Hey, I don’t need to _guilt_ you. I think I’m more than good at old-fashioned reason and logic.”

Jon raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Theon threw back the covers and sprawled out on the mattress, displaying himself. He never wore pajamas “Yeah.”

Jon had to admit, that was pretty good logic. “Well…I do have an hour and a half.”

“Fuck breakfast,” Theon said. “Fuck me instead.”

 

***

 

Jon rented an office just a block away. He could walk Ghost there quite easily. Clients saw the cane, then the dog, and assumed Ghost was a service animal. Jon had to correct them: “No, that’s my partner.” As usual, the moment Jon had the door unlocked, Ghost slipped past and made himself at home on his dog bed next to the desk.

The space was small, had once been a small time accountant’s office. The previous owner’s name was still visible on the door, even though the stickers had been removed; they left a shadow on the wood. There was no window, and only just enough room for his desk, three office chairs—one for him, and one or two for clients—and a modest filing cabinet. He had to use the restroom out in the hall shared by the other businesses in the building, but that was the only real inconvenience. And besides, you couldn’t beat the price.

He had just pulled out the paperwork for the new client when he heard the doorknob twist. A woman with shockingly white hair—the color Theon’s had been when they’d first met—poked her head in, and for a moment, Jon felt déjà vu. He knew her from somewhere, but he couldn’t say how. She was young, and very pretty. It wasn’t just her hair that was an odd color; her eyes, when they locked onto him, were so blue they appeared violet.

“You’re Jon Snow?” she asked.

“Um…yes.” Jon tried to shake the sensation off; it was flustering him. “You must be Ms. Drogo?”

She pushed the door open and entered, then closed it behind her. She was dressed for summer in a smart dress suit and three-quarter-sleeve blazer, under which she wore a flimsy silk blouse. She hugged herself, obviously chilled to the bone. Jon reached for his jacket, which he kept on the back of his office chair. She took it with a smile. “Thank you. I’m not used to this Northern climate.”

“Oh? Where are you from?”

She slipped the jacket on. “I was born on Dragonstone,” she said, “but I’ve lived most of my life in Essos. I just recently moved back.”

Jon nodded. He took his seat and gestured for her to do the same. “Why don’t you tell me what brings you here today, Ms. Drogo?”

She sat with some hesitancy. “I need some information.” She drew the jacket around herself as she looked around, as if she were being watched. “Some very…sensitive information.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“What do you know about the Long Night Contingency?”


	2. That: Late for Lunch

Theon rolled out of bed and looked blearily at the alarm clock: 12:34. It was just like being back in high school, when he’d cut classes to sleep in. He didn’t like thinking about that time in his life, when his self-destructive behavior had reached out to not only his friends and family, but complete strangers.

He could still remember the face of the mother of the two boys he’d killed, the way she stared at him during his court hearing—an open and shut case, defendant pleads guilty—as if searching for some meaning behind his actions. She must have thought his unwillingness to meet her eyes had been a slight against her. Robbed her of her two little boys, then robbed her of any explanation as to why.

He got out of bed and ran through his morning stretches. Moving helped build up his strength, the doctors said. He couldn’t do anything too strenuous—tired out too easily, prone to hurting himself with his lack of body fat and brittle bones—but he could do this. He could lift his arms over his head and stretch.

The papers had said he was a monster. A spoiled little rich boy, notorious for partying and sleeping around, who had never had to be held accountable for his actions. And the thing was…they weren’t wrong.

Yeah, sure, initially his defense had tried to paint a more tragic picture of their client. Bad family life: neglectful father who would rather deal with his (shady) business than his unruly son, two older brothers killed in a drive-by shooting, a mother struggling with mental illness. Gay kid trying to hide is orientation from his traditionalist family, which led him to being taken advantage of sexually by older men.

Theon almost laughed when they ran that story by him, except that he hadn’t been in the mood for laughing. The fact that they thought his partners were the ones taking advantage of _him_? _He_ was the one going out every night—older men, older women, kids he knew from school, complete strangers, anyone down to fuck. Anyone who would have him.

He finished his stretches and moved on to his weights—one-kilogram barbell per hand. He lifted one, held it for five seconds, then slowly lowered it and brought the other up.

Not that he’d ever go back to his wild days, but it had been fun. There had been _moments_ that had been fun. But Jon…being with Jon was different. Perhaps his first real relationship. Certainly his longest. The anniversary of their meeting was coming up. If you’d told Theon a year ago that he would be where he was now, he would have thought it was another one of Ramsay’s tricks.

Theon lowered the weights to the mat where he kept them stored. Stretching was done. Time for ablutions.

Ramsay was gone. Dead. Theon had seen his ghost with his own eyes. Though, thankfully, not since he’d had the inhibitor installed at the base of his skull. He startled when he looked into the bathroom mirror and realized he was reaching for the back of his neck. He caught himself doing that sometimes. Thinking about Ramsay tended to do that.

He tried not to think about Ramsay.

The figure that stared back at him from the mirror was looking more and more like Theon every day, and less and less like Ghost. His hair was dark again, though not as dark as it had been before the operation to turn his brain into a ghost-receiving radio. His face was more filled in, and his eyes were less frightened. His overall appearance was less haggard.

He gave himself a small smile.

“Okay, enough admiring yourself,” he said to his reflection. “Shower, shave, then breakfast. Or lunch, I guess.”

He froze. Lunch?

He ran from the bathroom and checked the calendar on the refrigerator. Then cursed.

Shit! He was supposed to have lunch with Sansa and Margaery as 1:00.

The clock on the wall said it was now 12:47.

He ran back to the bathroom, applied some quick deodorant—nobody was going to ever call him “Reek” again—and brushed his teeth. The shower and shave would have to wait. He fumbled into his clothes, glad it was Margaery who had picked the place and not Sansa, who was fond of fancy, hoity-toity places. A button-up shirt and jeans should suffice. And if they didn’t…well, he didn’t have time to change his mind.

He jumped into his shoes, snatched his jacket off the coat tree in the hall, and slammed the door on his way out. Then came back a second later when he realized he’d left his keys on side table.

 

***

 

“Theon, over here!” Sansa waved to him as he entered the restaurant huffing and puffing. Of course they were already here.

“Sorry,” he panted, making his way over to their table by the window. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.” He had a feeling they had been. They both had their menus out, and the waiter had already come by to serve their drinks—a richly red glass of wine for Margaery, a lemon soda for Sansa.

Margaery waved him off. “Just five minutes or so,” she lied. “We ordered an appetizer to share. I hope you don’t mind calamari.”

“No, no, that’s great.” Theon slid into the booth opposite them. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window and tried to flatten his hair down with one hand. He probably should have taken time for a quick comb before he left. “How are the two of you?” he asked distractedly. “Sansa, how’s university?”

“It’s great,” Sansa said. “Marge has talked me into pre-med. I want to be a neurologist.”

“Really?”

Sansa’s face turned red. “It’s just…ever since I met you and Margaery, this whole brain thing…I want to help people like you. I’d like to find a way to reverse whatever they did to you.” She looked to Margaery, who reached out and took her hand. “For those who _want_ it reversed, I mean.”

Well, that was an oddly touching thought.

So of course Theon had to ruin it by opening his mouth. “Yeah, some of us pulled the short straw.”

Cue one awkward second. Two.

“It must be hard,” Margaery said sympathetically, “not being able to control it. Like being in that chair all the time.” Theon shared the visible shudder that passed through her. Never again. Hopefully.

“It’s not so bad,” he said. “I’ve got my inhibitor in, so it’s not like I’m constantly being bombarded by dead people’s voices all the time. I think I would have preferred astral projection though.”

 “I think you would have preferred they not done anything to you at all.” Margaery locked eyes with him. “I’d have preferred that too. But since I can control _my_ psychic abilities, I don’t see a reason to have another invasive surgery to block them. If dead people followed me around everywhere I went, I would definitely reconsider.”

Sansa looked uncomfortable, unable to contribute anything to the conversation. She had never been dragged from a prison cell in the middle of the night, sheared of all her hair, and strapped to an operating table. She’d never had to endure endless rounds of testing, including what he and Margaery referred to as “the chair,” a device that sent electrical impulses straight into your brain to amplify the tinkering the government surgeons had done to their brains.

Luckily, the arrival of the waiter put an end to the awkwardness. A steaming plate of breaded calamari appeared in the middle of their table, and then the waiter was brandishing his pencil and notepad. “Have you decided yet, or would you like more time?”

“Uh…I’m ready,” Theon said, even though he hadn’t even cracked open his menu. He’d eaten here several times with Jon and was able to adlib an order of whatever today’s special was. Margaery and Sansa had obviously decided long ago.

“So, how are _you_ , Theon?” Sansa asked, once the waiter has shuffled off with their orders. “You’re looking better and better every time I see you.”

“Thank you.” Theon nodded at her compliment, though she was probably talking about his general appearance and not the just-rolled-out-of-bed look he was rocking today. “You look good too. I mean, you always look good, but you’re looking very pretty today. I like your dress.”

Sansa blushed.

Margaery hugged Sansa tight in mock jealousy. “Hey, you’ve got your own Stark. Sansa’s mine.”

“Marge!” Sansa squealed.

“Well, Jon’s not technically a Stark,” Theon said, “but I do have plans for corrupting all of them eventually.”

Margaery lifted her wine glass. “To corrupting the Starks.”

Theon lifted his water glass, since it was all he had, and clinked it with hers. “To corrupting the Starks.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “You guys are—”

She broke off suddenly.

Theon turned to give her a questioning look, as did Margaery. Just in time to see her eyes roll back in her head and her shoulders start jerking. They watched in horror as Sansa collapsed out of her chair and landed on the floor, writhing.


	3. This: Mrs. Drogo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As in canon, Dany's backstory contains some politically incorrect implications, so just a warning if that sort of thing bothers you.

“What would you say if I told you,” Ms. Drogo said, “that I was once married to a warlord? Because that’s the least unbelievable thing I’m about to tell you.” She sat back in her chair with a mysterious smile.

Jon smiled back. In the past year, he’d uncovered an enormous government conspiracy, met several genuine psychics, and learned that there was life after death. He doubted anything she could tell him would be more unbelievable than that.

He nodded for her to continue.

“When I say my husband was a warlord, I mean he was what you may consider an insurgent. Your government certainly did. He would ride into a town with his band of men and murder, rape, and burn, but I think what your government objected to most was the last thing. The burning of the oil fields, that is.” She readjusted the jacket on her shoulders. “I didn’t find myself married to this man by choice. I know there are fear-mongering stories about white women being abducted and sold as virgin brides to savages, but in actuality, it was my brother who sold me. He fancied himself a real politician, thought he could use his new friends to leverage your government.” She picked at a thread on the lining of the jacket. “Needless to say, he didn’t last long. I think video of his execution was sent to your government, but I doubt anyone cared.”

“I’m…sorry,” Jon said hesitantly.

“Don’t be.” She tore the thread off, twirled it between her fingers, then flicked it off. “He’s the one who sold me, after all.”

“No, I mean, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

She looked up, a startled expression on her face, as if nobody had ever told her that before.

She recovered quickly, though. “It wasn’t all bad. My husband, Khal Drogo, protected me. He was gentle with me, and I don’t simply mean in matters of sex. I was afforded the highest of respect from his men. I was his unwilling bride, a concubine more than anything, and yet…I truly believe he cared for me.” Her face turned the slightest shade of pink. “And I think, perhaps, I came to care for him a bit as well.” She looked away, a self-deprecating smile on her face. “You must think I’m insane. And I do have to admit, the fact that I came to care so deeply for my captor husband may be the most unbelievable part of this story.”

“No.” Jon shook his head. “No, I don’t think you’re insane. I think…” He didn’t dare say Stockholm syndrome, though he was certainly thinking it. The more he watched her coy smile, the more he thought that might be an oversimplification of the matter. He had sat in with Theon during a few of his therapy sessions, since Theon had, at first, refused to go alone. The way he’d talked about his experiences at Bolton Penitentiary—with the guards, with the doctors, with the government officials…with Ramsay—it wasn’t entirely what Jon had been expecting. “I think we don’t always control how we feel about things, people.”

She looked at him again, almost gratefully.

“Continue,” he said, feeling awkward. This touchy-feely stuff was Satin’s forte, not his. “And please, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I won’t judge you.”

“When he was killed by a sniper’s rifle,” she said flatly, “I tried to find a way to bring him back to life.” She stared him down, challenging him.

Jon tried to hide his surprise. Not necessarily that she’d tried to revive her captor, but the fact that she’d tried to revive him at all. That was some Old Age stuff right there. “And…did you succeed?”

She stared him straight in the eye. “I did.” Then she was silent, waiting for him to ask.

So he did. “How?”

“I found a doctor. Well, a witch doctor. A woman who studied forbidden science in secret after being kicked out of the medical field. She demonstrated how she had reanimated a horse’s corpse, and she claimed she had perfected the technique on human beings. I was desperate and so…I allowed her to perform the technique on my husband’s body.”

“And it worked,” Jon stated.

She looked up at him. So neutrally it threw him off guard.

“I mean, I assume it worked. Or you wouldn’t be here,” he covered awkwardly. “Um… _did_ it work?”

“No,” she answered. “I mean, it did. His body came back to life. But my husband…he was gone. What was left behind…” She gripped tighter at the stiff fabric. Her nails had been worn down almost to the quick. “I had it destroyed. It was an abomination.”

Ghost got up and wandered over to give his knuckles a lick. Absently, Jon rubbed his dog’s ears. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because soon afterwards, that doctor went missing.”

Jon sat up straight in his chair. “What do you mean ‘missing’?”

“Last seen talking to a man in a black suit. She got into a van with him—white, unmarked—and has not been seen again. Not in Essos, at least.”

Jon leaned forward. “Do you think she went with this man willingly?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see it. It was reported to me by one of my advisors. I am certain, however, that it has something to do with this technique she’s developed. A government agency or maybe a secret organization. Perhaps even a single wealthy investor looking for what she promises to deliver.” She paused to tuck a strand of white hair behind her ear. “Over the next few months, a number of strange stories made their way to me. A man who could tell the future. A woman who killed one of your top-ranking generals without ever lifting a finger. A boy who could speak with the dead.”

Jon’s hackles rose at that last bit. He stood abruptly. “Theon’s got nothing—”

She held up a hand to silence him. “I did some digging into Project Greenseer. I could find no mention of Mirri Maz Durr, though I suppose her name could be so classified that even my spies couldn’t uncover it. I don’t think so, though. My people are very thorough. What I did find, however, was _your_ name. Jon Snow. A retired police officer. Most of the other subjects of Project Greenseer—all of them, in fact—were convicts taken from various prisons. But not you.”

Jon realized he was growling and stopped. “So, you know me. Do you know what I can do?”

“I do,” she nodded. “And I think you can help me find out who wanted Dr. Maz Durr’s skills so very badly.”

Jon thought of all the people who had wanted Theon, possibly still did, for what he could do. The chance to speak with the dead again, be it for spying purposes, curiosity, or the chance to reunite with an old lover. Yes, the promise of overcoming death was a powerful one. “It could be dangerous,” he said, “in the wrong hands.”

“It’s already in the wrong hands,” she said flatly. “All hands are the wrong hands. I was a fool to have even tried, but I am just one person with a human weakness. If my suspicions are correct and whoever recruited Maz Durr is part of a bigger picture…I would like to know why they are so keen on raising corpses.”


	4. That: Seized

“Got you a soda.” Theon unscrewed the lid and handed it to Sansa, who took is gratefully. “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m fine.” Sansa smiled at him, then at Margaery. “Really, I am. I’m feeling much better now. I don’t even remember falling over.”

Margaery ran her hand over Sansa’s bright red hair, gently rubbing the spot where her skull had made contact with the floor. The nurse had examined it and said there would likely be a bump, but he did not think it was a concussion. The EEG showed no brain damage, but the MRI would confirm.

Sansa picked at the IV in her elbow nervously. “Really, can’t we go home?” She looked to both of them beseechingly.

Theon shared a look with Margaery. It seemed she was as uncomfortable as he was being back in a medical setting. He could tell from the tense cut of her shoulders. Something about being forcefully operated on, followed by months of invasive medical testing, were not conducive to comfort in hospitals. She wasn’t going to leave her girlfriend, though, and Theon wasn’t going to leave her. As much as Jon had done for him, Margaery was the one who had originally pulled him back from the brink. “ _They call me Wayfarer, but I’m not Wayfarer. I’m Margaery Tyrell, and they can’t take our names away from us_.” It was Margaery who had reminded him of his name. Not Ghost. Not Reek. Theon Greyjoy.

“Well, well, what have we here.” It was such a stereotypical villain line that Theon’s skin crawled, even though it was just the doctor come to check on them. He flipped through his clipboard, shooed Margaery and Theon to the side, then pulled up a rolling stool. “So, Sansa. What brings you to the ER today?”

“I passed out.” Her voice was small. “I’ve been studying hard at university and haven’t been getting as much sleep as I should. I really think that’s it. There’s no need to make all this fuss over me.”

“Mm-hmm,” the doctor said skeptically as he pulled out an otoscope. He put a hand on her forehead, brushing back strands of red hair, and shined it in her eyes. “Your admittance paperwork says you had a seizure.”

“Oh, no, I really don’t think so,” Sansa answered with a laugh. The kind that was meant to dispel awkwardness but instead just increased it.

“She was seizing,” Theon spoke up. “I have epilepsy. I recognize a seizure when I see one.”

Sansa shot him a disapproving look, but Margaery put a thankful hand on his shoulder.

“Have you ever had a seizure before, Sansa? Any history of epilepsy?”

“No.”

“Any _family_ history of epilepsy?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Did you see or hear anything right before you fell over? Flashing lights? Strange smells?”

“No.”

“Did you feel sort of…” He clicked the light off the otoscope and put it back in his pocket. “Funny? Off?”

“N…” She stopped short. “I…did feel a little funny. Kind of…tingly.”

“Anxious?” the doctor pressed. “Nervous without really knowing why?”

“No, it wasn’t that, exactly. It was just kinda…when Theon walked in, my brain felt kinda tingly, which usually only happens when I’m around Margaery.” She blushed a bright red. “I always thought it was…because we were…” Her face became redder still, and Theon worried she might pass out from all that blood running to her head.

The doctor read the cues as well and sat back. “I have to be honest, this sounds like a classic seizure to me, but we’ll do some more testing. I’ve already ordered an MRI. The tech should be by in a little while to take you to imaging. We’ll see what we can learn from that.” He gathered his clipboard and stood. “In the meantime, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to use your call button. We’ll get this thing figured out.” He patted Sansa’s shoulder, and with that, he was gone, pushing back the curtain that closed them off from the rest of the emergency room.

Margaery took the vacated stool chair. “You never told me you feel tingly around me.”

Sansa smiled shyly. “It only started a few weeks ago. After you…told me you loved me. I thought, maybe, that’s what love is supposed to feel like?”

“Then why did Theon give you the tingles as well?”

All the blood that had been pooling to Sansa’s face drained away. “I don’t know!” she cried defensively.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t meant it like that,” Margaery laughed. “Trust me, I’m not worried that you’ve fallen in love with Theon.”

“There _is_ something you and I have in common,” Theon said. Margaery wasn’t a mind reader, but the look she gave him said she already knew what he was going to say. “We’re both psychics.”

“You think she could be reacting to us?”

“Jon started developing powers after he met me.”

“Shit!” Margaery smacked the bed’s guardrail. “You think I’m contagious?”

Sansa grabbed for her hand. “We don’t even know what this is yet, Marge. There’s no need to get worked up. It might just be me overworking. We don’t know. So please…”

Margaery took a deep, calming breath. “Yeah, sure.” She nodded. “You’re right. We don’t know.”

“Maybe we should bring Jon in,” Theon suggested. “See if he gives her ‘the tingles’ too.”

“Could you please stop saying that?” Sansa buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry I ever used that word!”

“And what if she has another attack?” Margaery asked.

“I won’t,” Sansa said, her voice muffled. She pulled her hands away. “It might be a good idea, just to prove one way or the other.”

“I’ll give him a call,” Theon said. He stood and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Since he wasn’t allowed to make calls around the sensitive equipment, he took it out into the hallway. Out here he could hear the beeping of a half-dozen monitors, dutifully checking patients’ vital signs. In one room, an old man with a wad of red-soaked gauze wrapped around his shin moaned. In another room, a little girl cried into her mother’s lap. The smell of disinfectant permeated everything. All of it roiled Theon’s stomach.

He stood by the bathroom and dialed Jon’s number. It went to voicemail, which meant he was still in a meeting with his new client. “Hey,” Theon chirped into the mouthpiece, “just calling to let you know that’s Sansa’s in the ER. She’s fine now, but she collapsed at lunch and the doctors want to run a bunch of scans on her. She’d really appreciate it if you could drop by to give her some moral support. Call back when you get this message.”

That was good. No need to bring up the P word, especially over the phone. He’d let Jon in on the situation when he called back.

He hit the end button and shoved the phone into his back pocket. He made his way back to Sansa’s room, trying to keep the cloying, clean smell of hospital out of his nose.

“Okay, I called—” He pulled back the curtain and was startled to find perhaps the last person he had expected to run into, almost two years ago now. And certainly better dressed than the last time he’d seen him, wearing a sharp, black suit and a pair of reflective sunglasses. Like a secret serviceman or something.

Theon looked to Sansa and Margaery for answers. Sansa was asleep on the bed, her own monitor beeping steadily. Margaery was bent over the bed as well, head cradled in her arms as she, too, slept, the dutiful girlfriend tired from her vigil. Theon had been gone five minutes, if even that. No way the both of them had fallen asleep in that amount of time.

“Theon,” the man said.

“Uh-Uncle Euron? What are you—?”

“Sorry to interrupt you, but all will be explained in time.” The man slipped his glasses off. There was something very wrong with his right eye. “For now, I just need you to _sleep_.”

The word was drawn out, barely a whisper. Barely even spoken. Theon felt himself growing suddenly, uncontrollably sleepy. Before he could even think to fight against unconsciousness, someone was already catching him as his knees crumpled under him.

“You and your friends are coming with me.”


	5. This: The Long Night Contingency

“You mentioned something called…Dark Night?”

Mrs. Drogo put a finger to her lips.

Jon frowned. “You said we could talk freely once we were out of my office.”

Ghost frolicked in the snow with the other dogs. There were only a handful of them. Most people didn’t go to the dog park with three feet of snow on the ground. Not very inconspicuous, in Jon’s mind.

Not to mention the way Mrs. Drogo shuddered in her jacket, which looked like it had been designed more for show than for warmth. She breathed into her mittened hands and rubbed them against each other. It did little good. Her lips were already starting to turn purple.

“ _More_ freely,” she said. Despite the chattering of her teeth, she managed to speak without stuttering. “Your office is bugged.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. They’re still keeping tabs on you, Jon Snow. You and your boyfriend, as well as all the other subjects of Project Greenseer.”

Jon was taken aback by that. He’d suspected in his more paranoid moments, but there were no members of Project Greenseer left. Right? General Tywin was dead. Roose Bolton was awaiting trial at the capital. All the other staff and doctors had been punished…or so he’d been led to believe. The thought that they might still be monitoring him, watching him in his intimate moments with Theon, it sent a shudder through his body that had nothing to do with the cold.

Mrs. Drogo put her mittens over her exposed nose and mumbled something like, “Gods, it’s cold.”

“Perhaps we should go in from the cold,” Jon suggested.

Mrs. Drogo shook her head. “They might have someone following you, but they will find it difficult to spy on us here.” He had to admire her. She was obviously suffering, and yet her face was determined to endure this foreign torture. “Now, yes, I did mention the Long Night Contingency,” she said under her breath. “I believe it may be a sister study to Project Greenseer. I was able to find the name of a man in their employ, a man I believe you are familiar with. Qyburn.”

“Qyburn,” Jon repeated, feeling as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. He thought the man who had cut Theon’s head open, the doctor who had engineered the psychic process, would be well behind bars. The fact that he wasn’t meant… “The government is still running the project?”

“Not necessarily, no.” She pulled her hands away from her mouth and cupped them together, wringing her fingers to work feeling back into them. “My search has turned up nothing to suggest government involvement.”

“And what _has_ your search turned up?”

Jon’s phone went off. He cursed and fumbled with his gloved fingers to silence it. It was Theon, a picture of him flashing a guarded smile at Jon’s phone camera lit up the screen. Jon stuffed the phone back into his pocket and hoped it wasn’t anything important.

When it was silenced, he gave her a nod to continue. Still, she paused a moment. “Have you ever heard of White & Walker?”

“The pharmaceutical company?” Jon laughed. “Yeah, they have a research branch right here in Mole’s Town.”

She stared at him, as if willing him to make the connection for her.

“White & Walker?” he repeated. “The oldest pharmaceutical company in Westeros? The pharmaceutical company that agreed to foot the bill for the victims of Project Greenseer? _That_ pharmaceutical company?”

She nodded. “The CEO, a Mr. Jon Walker III, great-great-grandson of the original founder…he put a spy in the midst of my advisors. I believe that’s how he found out about Dr. Maz Durr.”

“Wait, wait. Back up.” Too fast. This was going way too fast. “A pharmaceutical company…put a spy…in the midst of your advisors…in a foreign country…halfway around the world?”

“I did tell you it would be unbelievable.”

“But why?”

She shrugged. It was easy to miss under her jacket, the gesture almost lost in all the material. “Perhaps to keep an eye on my husband. The man I later found out was a spy was my personal advisor and Dothraki interpreter, a westerner by the name of Jorah Mormont.”

“Mormont? I know that name,” Jon said, wracking his brain to think of where. “Yeah, my cousin Robb had a friend named Dacey Mormont. I wonder if they’re related.”

“Jorah is from this area originally, so it’s possible.” She didn’t sound particularly interested in the possibility. “He used to be a lawyer for White & Walker. I knew that from the beginning. What he told me after Dr. Maz Durr’s disappearance…”

“He told you?”

From the hood of her jacket, she gave him a knowing look. “A guilty conscious can weigh heavily on a man.” In that instance, with her white hair and her dark hood, she looked like the statues of the Crone Jon had sometimes seen when Mrs. Stark made the children go to sept. She would point at it and say in her schoolteacher’s voice, “The Crone knows all your sins. She watches. And she remembers.”

Again, he shuddered.

“He confessed to me that he had been caught bribing an FDA agent. To save face, he took an offer from the higher ups in the company to do some…reconnaissance work, as they called it. He was to report on my movements and activities.”

“ _Your_ movements?” Jon interrupted. “Not your husband’s?”

She shrugged. An uncertain gestured hidden under her coat. “His reports were sent on to Mr. Walker, he told me, but Jorah himself never received anything in return. He was never told what this information would be used for.” She stopped rubbing her hands together and set them in her lap. “At least, that’s what he told me. I know he came clean to me of his own free will, but still…I am uncertain how much I can trust him.”

“He’s still with you?”

“I will have you meet my advisors,” she said, “if you agree to help me.”

Jon looked around the dog park. Ghost was still bouncing around, nearly invisible against the snow. From a bench on the other side of the park, an old lady sat with her little dog in her lap. It didn’t seem like anyone was watching them. In truth, he wasn’t sure he entirely believed her. The idea that some nefarious entity was monitoring him and Theon…it seemed a bit too designed to appeal to his baser fears.

“I usually investigate missing people, cheating spouses, that sort of thing. What you’re asking me…” He sighed. “It could be dangerous.” _And I have people to think about now, people who depend on me._ If someone really were watching them, it would definitely put not only himself in danger, but Theon as well.

Mrs. Drogo nodded, slowly. “I understand,” she said. “For what it’s worth, I will pay you for your services, whatever you ask.” She reached under the collar of her coat and pulled out a delicate gold necklace with a dragon charm on it. “As proof, I will offer this to you as up-front payment. It is worth a thousand gold dragons. I will pay you much, much more once the case is done.”

Which would be when? he wanted to ask, but didn’t. She was obviously a wealthy woman, but he shook his head. “Thank you, that’s very generous, but it’s not the money I’m concerned about.” He made enough money with this side job. Not millions, of course, but enough to keep himself and Theon comfortable in their little apartment.

“Are you certain? It’s not a bribe; it’s a promise.” She tried once again to offer it to him. “I do not ever turn my back on my allies. I want you as my ally, Jon Snow. Think of it as my gift to you, to do with as you please. Perhaps you will buy something nice for your boyfriend.”

A thousand ideas flashed through Jon’s head. A nicer office. A house in the countryside. A car so that he didn’t need to walk into town. And for Theon…nice clothing, nice jewelry, vacations in warm, exotic lands… He reached out for the necklace. Then stopped himself.

“I can’t,” he said. “Not without consulting my boyfriend first.”

Mrs. Drogo nodded again and slid the necklace back into her shirt. The metal must have been chilled, because she shivered and clutched her throat. “I understand,” she said, standing. “Yes, do talk with him. But also think about what I’ve told you today. I fear that we may be running out of time.”

Jon cocked his head. “Running out of time?”

“I don’t know what the end goal of the Long Night Contingency is, but I would rather learn for myself than let them do the revealing. Because if it comes to that…”  She pulled her jacket tighter around her throat, where the zipper didn’t quite reach. “Then it will be too late.”


	6. That: The White Room

By this point, Theon was used to waking up in strange places. Usually in strange hospital beds with all manner of cords and wires sticking out of him. Usually in a great deal of pain or fear. Or both. When he was unconscious, people tended to…do things to him.

There was certainly fear now, as memories of strange hands on him came flooding back. No pain though. No cords or wires. Someone had removed his shoes and jacket, but other than that he was wearing the clothes he’d dressed himself in this morning. Not a prisoner’s jumpsuit. Not a hospital gown. Not completely naked.

He opened his eyes. He wasn’t on a hospital bed, but rather a bench in what looked to be an interrogation room. Fluorescent lights bathed the already-white room in even more white. Besides the bench, there was a table with a single chair. And what he assumed was a one-way mirror.

Slowly, he sat up, assessing himself. He ran a hand over his head. Good, his hair was still there. A more panicked thought, he reached for the inhibitor. Good, that was still there as well. He felt groggy from whatever they had done to him. He had been no stranger to sedatives during his time at Bolton Penitentiary, but this was unlike anything they’d ever used on him. He remembered seeing Uncle Euron, seeing Margaery and Sansa…

Shit! Margaery and Sansa!

He hopped up from the bench, ignoring the wave of nausea that swept over him. He ran to the mirror and began banging on it. It was remarkably flexible. His reflection bounced back at him, distorting as the mirror distorted. “Hey!” he screamed. “Hey, where are my friends?”

From one of the corners, static crackled, followed by a disinterested voice saying, “Please calm down, Mr. Greyjoy. We will be with you in a moment.”

“Fuck that,” Theon shouted back. “I want to know where you’ve taken my friends. Right. Now.”

There was a static-filled pause. Then a different voice came on over the speaker. A voice Theon recognized. “My, Ghost, you’ve become quite…forceful since last we met.”

Theon backed away from the mirror. “My name isn’t Ghost.” He wished he sounded more sure of himself.

“Ah, right, where are my manners? You’re back to Mr. Greyjoy now, aren’t you?” The voice chuckled. It was an amused, grandfatherly chuckle. It sent chills all through Theon’s body. “I find that names don’t really matter. You can call a weed a rose all you like, but that doesn’t make it a rose.”

Theon crawled back onto the bench and drew his knees up to his chin. “Please, no.”

“But you’re not a weed, are you, Mr. Greyjoy? A common, ordinary weed? No, you’re much more special. You know, in some ways, I believe you are my best creation. The shining achievement in my rose garden.”

Theon buried his face in his knees. “Please, no.”

There was a loud beep, and a door on the adjacent wall opened. “I hope you’ll forgive my metaphors,” Qyburn said. “They do tend to get away from me.” He was not an intimidating figure at all, on the downhill side of middle-aged. When not dressed in scrubs, he could be anyone’s kindly grandfather. He strode in, not with great purpose or confidence—he was not a man who commanded respect with his mere presence—but all the same, Theon shrank back from him when he came near. “It’s good to see you doing so well, Mr. Greyjoy.”

Theon’s throat prickled, and it took him a moment to realize he was producing a low, keening noise.

Qyburn took a seat on the bench next to him. Reached out a hand and ran it through Theon’s hair. His fingers brushed the inhibitor. “Tsk, now why would you have that done?” he said, the kindly grandfather disapproving of his grandson’s new tattoo. “Why would you hide who you are from the world? Your marvelous gift.”

“I don’t want it,” Theon said.

Qyburn sighed in disappointment. “Perhaps we will have it removed later. My earlier request was denied. The benefactors have other concerns at the moment.”

Theon lifted his head. Benefactors?

“Ah, yes, my new benefactors,” Qyburn said, letting his hand rest on Theon’s shoulder now. “ _Your_ new benefactors as well.” He gave Theon a pat on the back. “I think you’ll like them. They’re very much invested in your continued welfare. Absolutely forbid me from taking you apart, though I very badly wanted to. You and your little friend, Wayfarer.”

“Margaery,” Theon sniffled, barely audible. “Her name is Margaery.”

“She is a delight,” Qyburn continued obliviously. “To hear the higher ups in Project Greenseer, you’d think Lioness was the shining jewel of the southern facility. I disagree. Wayfarer has much more…finesse. Easily my rival’s greatest work. Just like you,” he patted Theon’s back again, “are mine.”

Theon flinched. He wanted so badly to pull away from this man. He should be able to. He wasn’t Ghost anymore.

“There are hidden depths to you, Mr. Greyjoy. To your abilities, I mean. At first we thought you could only speak to the dead, then you show us you can actually _see_ them as they were in life. And just when we begin to think that’s the extent of your augmentation, you show us that you can actually channel the dead, bring them back to speak with us.”

Theon shook his head. No, never again. He never wanted a ghost in his body again.

“I’ll wager you’ll surprise us again.” Qyburn chuckled and stood. “They sent me in the make sure you were comfortable. They would like a brief physical for both you and Wayfarer, and then you will be reunited. I told them there would be no harm in putting the two of you together.”

Theon looked up as Qyburn made his way to the door. “What about Sansa?”

“Ah, your pretty little friend. Yes, well, she’s being assessed as we speak.”

“Assessed? As in…?”

“To determine her ability. So far it’s not going as hoped. Poor dear.” He clucked his tongue. “I hope the chair yields results soon. She does cry so awfully loudly.”


	7. This: Back to Castle Avenue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I've decided to go ahead and post the rest of Part I. Please note that the new chapter count, 19, is only Part I. There will be more following that, but it still needs a lot of work. In the meantime, hope you enjoy and thank you for sticking around. :)

“Theon, I’m back!” Jon called as he stomped the snow from his shoes and hung up his jacket. He went for the towel to give Ghost a wipe-down, but the mass of dirty snow rushed right past him into the bedroom, where Theon apparently still hadn’t gotten out of bed. Jon sighed and kicked off his boots. “Are you planning on getting up sometime today?”

No answer. Gods, was he not even awake?

“Come on, babe. This is important. I have something I want to talk to you about. I know you’re not going to like it but—”

He heard the telltale sound of Ghost hopping up on the futon. With his big, muddy paws. Cursing, Jon ran into the bedroom. The first thing he noticed, besides Ghost looking very pleased with himself, was that Theon wasn’t there. The bed was unmade.

Jon frowned. “Theon?”

There was no answer from the bathroom. A quick look showed that he’d probably left in a hurry. Then Jon remembered that he’d had a lunch appointment with Margaery and Sansa this afternoon. It was a bit late, but maybe they had decided to grab a movie together? Maybe that’s why he’d called earlier?

Jon went to retrieve the phone he’d left in his pocket out in the hall. No sooner was it in his hand then it started to ring, the jaunty default ring that he always meant to change. It wasn’t Theon’s picture that greeted him this time, though; it was Sam.

 _Hey, great timing_ , Jon thought. If he ended up taking this job for Mrs. Drogo, he would want Sam on his team. No matter how good this woman’s spies were, Jon was willing to bet Sam was better. He swiped the screen and answered the call.

“Hey, Sam, what—”

A blast of static struck him straight on the eardrum. He pulled away, but not enough to miss the, “Father, Mother, Crone!” that followed. Which was unusual. Sam never swore.

“Sam?” he tried again.

Sam seemed to realize he’d picked up. “Oh, uh, sorry, Jon. Things are bit—”

Something beeped in the background.

“—a bit out of control here at the minute.”

“Do you…need some help?”

Sam made a sound like a deflating balloon. “Oh, I’m so glad you asked. As a matter of fact—”

He was interrupted by a shrill scream. A woman’s scream.

“Gilly!”

Abruptly, the call cut off.

Panicked, Jon tried to call back, to no result. “Ghost!” he called. The dog came running at the sound of his leash jingling as Jon took it off the hook. “Good boy. We’re going to go for a ride.”

Getting his boots and jacket back on was difficult even without his hurried fumbling. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was dressed to plunge back into the snow, Ghost’s leash in one hand and his trusty cane in the other.

He hailed a cab on the street. Any cab worth its winter salt had its own plow. Winter had really only started about a couple months ago, and already the cabbie looked weary of driving through the snows. Too weary to even object when a dog hopped up onto the back seat. “Where to, mister?”

“Castle Avenue,” Jon said. “And please hurry.”

 

***

 

Ghost ran up the stairs to Sam’s apartment first, eager to see his friend again. Jon wondered if he should jump into Ghost’s mind right now, scout the situation out first. It was primarily why he’d brought his “partner.” In the end, though, Ghost didn’t show any signs of aggression, which hopefully meant no home intruders.

Still, Jon approached cautiously, sliding along the outside wall until he got to Sam’s apartment, where Ghost was waiting dutifully for the door to open. To Jon’s surprise, the door opened and Gilly poked her head out. “Hello, Jon,” she said, giving him an uncertain smile. “I think you’d better come in.”

“I, uh…sure.”

Jon stepped inside to find Sam hadn’t been lying: things really were a bit out of control. It looked like someone had broken in and smashed all of the screens on their electronics—the television, the two gaming computers on Sam’s work desk, a discarded phone lying out on the coffee table. Well, that would explain why the call had cut out. Just as Jon came to stand in the living room, a light bulb overhead exploded. Gilly screamed and threw her arms over her head to protect herself from falling glass. The sound of whimpering came from the bathroom.

Jon peeked through the doorway to see Sam curled up in the bathtub. “Sam?”

Sam looked up, startled, then immediately embarrassed. “Jon!” He struggled to stand on the slippery bathtub surface. “I think we might have a ghost.”

Ghost’s ears swiveled around and he cocked his head.

“I mean a…a poltergeist,” Sam clarified with a vague hand gesture.

Jon tried to help Sam up, but Gilly hurried in to wave him off. “No sense in both of you ending up with your heads cracked open,” she said. Jon watched in amazement as this slip of a girl hauled Sam to his feet and helped him over the lip of the tub.

“What, uh…” Jon glanced over his shoulder at the electronic carnage. “What’s going on?”

“It started about an hour ago,” Gilly explained.

“I was on the computer, Gilly was watching the tele,” Sam explained. “I was running a campaign with some of my guild buddies online. We were planning on running a dungeon and—”

“Sam,” Jon stopped him. “Is any of that pertinent to this—” He gestured to the machinery massacre. “—situation?”

“Well…no, I guess not,” Sam admitted. He fidgeted with his hands nervously. You’d never have thought this was the man who, only a few months ago, had successfully taken down a secret government facility’s power grid. “Just that the guild master—you remember Dolorous Edd, right? From the force? Anyway, he said my microphone was on the fritz. Soon after that, I lost all feed and my monitor just…died.”

“And then it exploded,” Gilly added.

“Then it exploded,” Sam agreed.

“Same with the TV. I was just watching my program. Then the picture and sound started getting distorted. The screen went blank and exploded a few minutes later.”

“How far apart did these two incidents occur?” Jon asked, going into detective mode.

Gilly and Sam looked at each other, deliberating.

“Ten minutes?” Sam hazarded.

“Ten to fifteen,” Gilly agreed.

“Then the microwave started on its own.”

“And then it exploded too.”

“That’s when we tried to call you.”

“But Sam’s phone exploded too.”

Jon nodded vacantly.

“We were wondering…um, if it’s not asking too much…maybe Theon could come and…talk to the poltergeist?”

Jon sighed. “He doesn’t really do that sort of thing anymore.”

“We know,” Gilly rushed in to explain. “That’s why we called you first. We thought it would be rude to ask Theon so directly, especially given…”

“His inhibitor…it’s kind of a pain to turn on and off,” Jon said. Theon hadn’t turned it off since he’d had it installed, despite assurances that he could if he wanted. “Honestly, I don’t think he’d be too hot to do it.”

They nodded in disappointed understanding. “Maybe we could call a septon?” Gilly suggested. “Do you know any who do exorcisms?”

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Jon.” Sam put a hand to his head. “I guess we just sort of…freaked out. I’ve had a bad headache all day on top of this, and it just…” He moaned. “I’m going to go lie down.”

“Theon says scalp massages help his head…” Jon trailed off. “Wait. You’ve had a headache all morning? And then weird things started happening in your apartment?”

Sam stared at him with wide, uncomprehending surprise. “Do you…think they’re connected?”

“Calm down,” Jon said, before Sam could start working himself into a panic. “It might just be a coincidence. It might not even mean what I’m thinking.”

That only served to make Sam’s eyes wider. “Why? What are you thinking, Jon?”

“I’m thinking there’s a distinct possibility you don’t have a poltergeist at all.”


	8. That: Alone Together

A nurse came in and gave him a short, surprisingly non-invasive physical exam. He was glad it wasn’t Qyburn, though. Afterward, he was ushered into a new holding area, an exact replica of the old one except Margaery was there to greet him. Which she did by latching onto his shoulders. “Theon, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He knew that she knew he was lying. “You?”

She nodded weakly. “Sansa? Have you seen Sansa?”

He shook his head and didn’t mention what Dr. Qyburn had told him.

Margaery gave a single, strangled sob before reeling away from him to sit on the bench. “This is all my fault.”

“No.” Theon came to sit with her. “How could it possibly be your fault?”

“She developed powers from spending so much time with me. That’s why she’s here with us, isn’t it?” She hunched in on herself. “I’ve been terrible for her from day one. We couldn’t even tell her family about us because…because she was afraid her mother wouldn’t approve.”

Theon smiled ruefully. “If it’s any consolation, Arya already has it figured out on her own.”

Margaery smiled back, small and sad. It didn’t fit her at all. “Sansa and I met at the hospital when we were waiting for you to come out of your coma. There were a lot of people in the waiting room, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Theon said. He couldn’t imagine it.

“Your sister. Sam and Gilly. Officer Tarth. Officer Lannister even came by and asked about you. The Starks too. Mrs. Stark brought the whole brood of them when Jon told her it was about her oldest son’s murder. She didn’t have to come, but I think…I think she felt like you were a link to Robb she’d never had before. She was very quiet the whole time.”

Theon didn’t know why she was telling him any of this. It seemed to be her way of distracting herself, so he didn’t interrupt.

“I was worried you wouldn’t make it. The doctors said it wasn’t looking good. So here I am, all nervous, and here’s this beautiful redheaded girl sitting next to my in the waiting room. So I start talking with her. She asks if I knew her brother Robb. She didn’t even realize I was hitting on her, she was so naïve. Still is.” She rested her forehead against her knees, completely doubled over.

“Sansa will be fine,” Theon said hollowly.

“Dr. Sparrow is here.”

It was muffled in the fabric of her dress. Theon wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Dr. Sparrow?”

Slowly, she sat up. “The doctor who…performed the surgery on me.”

“Was he the doctor in the Kings Landing facility?”

She nodded. “I thought I would never have to see him again.”

Theon was silent. “The doctor who opened my brain is here too.” He wondered if Dr. Sparrow was this “rival” Qyburn had mentioned. “Do you remember anything before you fell asleep at the hospital?”

Margaery furrowed her brow in concentration. “I heard…I saw a…there was a glowing blue eye.” She shook her head. “It’s all really fuzzy. What about you?”

“I saw a glowing blue eye too. And I think I saw…my uncle Euron.”

Margaery cocked her head.

“I thought I saw…but, no, that can’t be right.” Theon put a hand to his head. He was beginning to feel dizzy, and just trying to remember what had happened in those last seconds before he’d lost consciousness was almost painful. “Uncle Euron…last time I saw him was at my sentencing. He has mafia connections but…”

“Do you think the _mafia’s_ behind this?”

“That seems a little absurd, doesn’t it?” Theon chuckled unconvincingly.

“And secret paramilitary organizations _aren’t_ absurd?”

“It’s _all_ absurd.”

They were silent a moment.

“I did some searching,” Margaery began tentatively, “while I was unconscious. I was able to look around the facility a bit. It’s massive. But when I tried to go outside…something stopped me.” She frowned, as if not quite sure how to put it into words. “Someone. A presence. It held me back. I think they have another psychic here.”

Theon thought about that a moment. That might explain how they had all been knocked out so easily. “Anyone you recognize?”

She shook her head. “No. But someone who can go outside of their body, like we can.”

“They’re collecting us,” Theon said with a sudden surge of understanding.

“They’re starting up Project Greenseer again.”

“No.” Theon shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s it. I think this is something…different.”

Margaery finally lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed from behind a tangled curtain of hair. Not exactly the well-put-together young woman who’d ordered fine wine from a restaurant just hours ago. “Different…how?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It just seems…look, the original purpose of Project Greenseer was to create psychic super soldiers, right? We were just test subjects while they figured out the wiring of our brains, how connecting this or that created such and such a result.”

Margaery glowered, remembering. She would have been awake during her brain surgery, just the way Theon had been.

“Qyburn said the higher ups aren’t letting him tinker with us.” He supposed Qyburn could have been lying, but the man had seemed genuinely put out. “Why would they suddenly be so concerned with our health and wellbeing?”

“Because they need us,” Margaery said.

“They need us alive and healthy…for something.” Theon shook his head again. “I don’t think we’re the guinea pigs. I think we’re whatever’s being tested _on_ the guinea pigs.”

Margaery went back to looking at her lap for a few minutes. “I didn’t get to explore much the facility,” she began in a small voice. “I wasn’t out long enough. For instance, I wasn’t able to find you, let alone where they’re keeping Sansa. I did get a little bit, though.”

Theon watched her intently.

“There are several floors beneath this one. The one I was able to explore…there are dozens of these rooms, all just concrete. They’re kept freezing cold. I mean, I can’t feel anything when I’m projecting, but they all have thermometers that men in medical hazmat suits keep checking. Along the walls are all these…drawers.” She turned her head, waiting for him to pick up on her implication. “It’s all one, big morgue.”

Theon’s skin began to prickle.

“The thing is,” Margaery continued, “I’m not sure if there are already bodies in there…or if they plan on filling them up sometime soon.”


	9. This: Massively Multi-Player

Sam had gone from “going to go lie down” to unable to sit still. Now, his constant rummaging through his books was giving _Jon_ a headache.

“You really think…he could be a psychic?” Gilly asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Jon said, idly stroking Ghost’s fur as Gilly made tea in the kitchen. “I just said it’s a possibility. The headache, things moving around on their own.”

“Just the electrical stuff,” Gilly noted. “Do you think maybe Sam can control electricity with his mind?”

“Ah-ha!” Sam cried in triumph. He hurried to the kitchen and slammed a thick, hardcover book on the table. The title read: _Specialty Classes for World of Warlocks_. A guide book for one of those old school role-playing game he had once talked Jon into playing with him, back when they’d been on the force together. He began flipping through pages. “No, Gilly, not electricity. This.” He found the page and jabbed at it with his finger. “A technomancer.”

Jon had to cock his head, since the page was upside-down to him. Even slightly righted, it was all gibberish to him. There was a reason Jon had been kicked out of their World of Warlocks group after only two months.

“I think,” Sam said, holding his hands out like he was about to start an amazing campfire story, “that I can control electronic equipment. With my mind.”

The kettle whistled and Gilly tsk’d. “Except you’ve only blown everything up so far.”

“Well…that’s because I was stressed,” Sam argued. “Here, Jon, give me your phone and I’ll show you.”

“My phone?”

“Yeah, I, uh, already blew up mine and Gilly’s.”

Jon clutched his phone in his pocket. “Sorry, Sam, but I need this phone for work. And also so Theon can call me. Oh! Right, he called me earlier.” In all the commotion, he’d forgotten. He pulled the phone out and began to wake it up, then eyed Sam skeptically and stood. “I hope you don’t mind if I make a call outside.”

Back out in the snow, he had to hold the phone pressed right up against his ear to hear the message Theon had left over the sound of the traffic below. “Hey, just calling to let you know that Sansa’s in the ER. She’s fine now, but she collapsed at lunch and the doctors want to run a bunch of scans on her. She’d really appreciate it if you could drop by to give her some moral support. Call back when you get this message.”

“Shit!” Jon started dialing Theon’s number. “Sorry, guys!” he called back into the apartment. “There’s been an emergency. I have to get to the hospital.” _I should have checked sooner_. “Can you watch Ghost?”

“Sure,” Gilly called back. The front door opened. “Is everything alright?”

“I don’t know. My sister collapsed.”

Gilly nodded in understanding. “Go. Keep us updated.”

_How?_ Jon wanted to ask. _Both your phones are destroyed_. He didn’t say anything, though.

 

***

 

He managed to catch the world’s slowest cab to Mother’s Mercy Hospital. All the way there, neither Theon nor Sansa nor Margaery would answer their phones. Then he nearly slipped on the ice as he hobbled into the main entrance. A nurse, perhaps more concerned with a lawsuit than his actual wellbeing, hurried to help him. He waved her off. “I’m here for Sansa Stark,” he explained. “I’m her cousin.”

The nurse at the check-in desk typed some keys on her keyboard, then furrowed her brows as she studied whatever came up on her computer. “Sorry, ser, it looks like she was discharged about five hours ago.”

“Five _hours_ ago?” Jon checked the time stamp on Theon’s message. It had been _left_ barely five hours ago.

The nurse continued to browse her computer. “It looks like the doctor ordered an MRI for her, but she was never sent to imaging and diagnostics. She must have checked herself out.”

“She checked herself out?” Jon repeated incredulously. “She passed out, your doctor obviously suspected something was wrong if he ordered an MRI, and you…just let her go?”

“We can’t _keep_ anyone here,” the nurse sniffed. “For what it’s worth, we always counsel to—”

Jon wasn’t interested in her excuses. That was all just ass-covering stuff in case the lawyers came sniffing around. “Who did she leave with?”

The nurse shrugged. “Even if I knew that, ser, I’m not allowed to tell you.”

Jon leaned heavily on the check-in desk. “Please, this is important. I’ve been trying to get ahold of her, but she’s not picking up her phone.”

She gave him the most remarkable what-do-you-want-me-to-do-about-it look he’d ever seen, and he’d been a cop for several years.

Jon looked over his shoulder to the camera mounted above the automatic doors into the lobby, scanning visitors with its roving eye. “Can I see your security footage?”

“That’s not going to happen, ser,” she answered. “Now, can you move so I can help the people behind you?”

Jon turned to see a teenager with a blood-soaked towel around his hand. He sighed and moved out of the way to take a seat in the waiting room.

Three more phone calls to Theon, Sansa, and Margaery turned up nothing. It didn’t seem right. According to Theon’s message, the three of them had come into the ER together. There was no way either he or Margaery would allow Sansa to check herself out, even if she insisted she was fine. And even if they did, surely Theon would have called him again to let him know. He’d sounded like he wanted Jon to come over right away, but after five hours, he hadn’t called to ask why Jon wasn’t on his way? No, there was something odd going on here.

He hoped it didn’t have anything to do with Mrs. Drogo’s claim that they were all being watched.

 

***

 

The cab ride back to Castle Avenue was nerve-wracking. He jiggled his knee and turned his cane over and over in his hands as the cab inched its way through the snowy roads. It was dark now, and snow had started to fall again. Theon should have called, if only to ask why Jon wasn’t home yet.

The new snow made the climb up to Sam’s apartment easier, since it gave traction to the ice. He made it up the stairs just fine, only to be tackled and nearly knocked over the minute the door opened.

“I did it, Jon!” Sam cried. “I’m a real technomancer!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry I doubted you,” Gilly said. “Now get off of Jon, would you?”

“Oh, sorry.” Sam took a step back and looked Jon up and down. “Are you alright?” he asked, his enthusiasm dying away as he took in Jon’s appearance. “Is everything okay with Sansa?”

“No,” Jon said bluntly. He plopped down on the leather sofa, heedless of the melting snow in his hair and on his coat. “I don’t know where she is. The hospital doesn’t know where she is. For all I know, she’s wandering around in the snow with massive brain damage. And I’ve no idea where Theon or Margaery are.”

“What do you mean the hospital doesn’t know where she is?” Gilly asked.

“Records say she checked herself out.”

“That doesn’t sound like Sansa,” Sam said, coming to sit next to Jon.

“No,” Jon agreed. “I wanted to see who she left with, but of course they wouldn’t let me see the footage from their security camera.” He ran a hand over his face. “It hasn’t been twenty-four hours, so I can’t exactly file a missing persons report. Maybe Brienne or Jaime would be able to help me out…what are you grinning about?” Somewhere during Jon’s thinking out loud, Sam’s face had lit up. “Sam, please, this might be really serious.”

“Oh, I know, I know.” Sam stood. “But remember how I was saying I’m a technomancer now? Well, I dug my old laptop out of my closet, and when I concentrated, it didn’t blow up.”

“Good,” Jon nodded dispassionately.

“What I was able to hack into Edd’s World of Warlocks Online account.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“With my _brain_ , Jon.”

Jon lifted his head from his mope.

“Don’t you see? I can get the security footage for you.”

Jon blinked. He hadn’t even thought of that, though he supposed he should have. Sam could probably break into the hospital’s surveillance system, with or without psychic powers.

“Gilly, could you get the laptop?”

Gilly nodded and came running with a laptop in her hands, a mouse dangling from one of the USB ports. Sam rubbed his hands together in gleeful delight as he cracked the lid open, and Jon wondered if he should maybe take cover for his own protection. “Are you sure about this?”

“Sure I’m sure.” Sam brought the laptop out of sleep mode. “Watch this.”

Jon couldn’t help but notice that Gilly had taken cover behind the couch as soon as the computer was out of her hands. Jon resisted the urge to join her.

Sam set his hands on the keyboard and closed his eyes. “Nobody talk. I need to concentrate.”

Jon turned to look at Gilly, who mouthed something about shielding his eyes. He was entranced by what Sam was doing, though. The screen had become a strobe light of different colored lines. The processors began to whir, and it certainly sounded like the whole thing might explode at any moment.

“I’m looking,” Sam informed them. “There’s a lot of information out there. It’s like—”

But Jon would have to wait to hear what it was like, because at that moment, the screen went black, then came back with black and white camera footage of the waiting room he’d just been in twenty minutes ago, complete with the same nurse at the check-in desk.

“Sam, you’re a genius!”

Sam opened his eyes and seemed startled by what he saw on the screen. Then smiled sheepishly. “I know.”

“Can you find this time stamp?” Jon showed him from his phone.

Sam rewound the footage to the time of Theon’s message. Then he, Jon, Gilly, and Ghost all settled in to watch.

Ten minutes of footage, twenty, thirty. Sam played it on double speed, but neither Sansa nor Margaery nor Theon ever emerged. Jon frowned. “Is there another camera?”

“Uh…yeah,” Sam said. “There’s one by the ambulance exit.” He set his hands on the keyboard, and without hitting a single key, he brought the new footage up. Jon had to admit it was pretty nifty, even if a good old-fashioned mouse could give you the same results.

The other camera showed the pull-around where ambulances loaded and unloaded. They started at the time of Theon’s call, and hardly five minutes later, a couple of EMTs came out wheeling a gurney between them. A gurney with an unconscious Theon on it.

Jon felt his stomach clench like a fist. Sansa was the one who’d gone in sick. Theon shouldn’t be the one on the gurney. He watched as the EMTs loaded him into waiting ambulance with the hospital’s name on it. Then they went back into the building and returned a few seconds later with another gurney, this one with an unconscious Sansa. They repeated the process with Margaery.

Was that normal hospital procedure? Loading patients from the ER _into_ an ambulance? Three patients to one emergency vehicle? Certainly nobody stopped them as they went back and forth.

Once Margaery was in, one of the EMTs hopped in the back and flashed a thumbs up sign while the other closed the double doors. Then the remaining EMT flashed a similar thumbs up sign to someone off camera. A man in a black suit wandered onto the screen, though Jon couldn’t see his face. He wasn’t a doctor, that was for sure. He and the EMT spoke briefly. Then the EMT went around to the driver’s side of the ambulance. The man in the black suit went back inside while the ambulance drove off.

“Sansa wasn’t checked out,” Gilly said, breaking the moment of stunned silence that followed. “She was kidnapped. And so were—”

They all jumped when Jon’s ring tone blasted from his pocket.

Hurriedly, he pulled it out and stared at the picture on the screen.

“Who is it?” Sam asked, and Gilly leaned in closer.

“It’s…Sansa.”


	10. That: The Coward's Way In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: This chapter contains physical assault that results in flashbacks to sexual assault.

Theon was still thinking about what Margaery had said several hours later when the door opened and a nurse came in, bearing a stack of hospital gowns. “You’re to put these on,” she said. Ah, so here was the other shoe, ready to drop. Theon wondered why they’d been allowed to keep their own clothes on for so long. “Remove all your outer wear. You may keep your underwear on, though Ms. Tyrell should remove her bra for the procedure.”

“What procedure?” Margaery asked. “Where’s Sansa?”

“I’m supposed to prepare you for your lumbar puncture,” the nurse replied robotically. “You’ll be allowed to put your clothes back on once it’s finished.”

“Fuck that!” Margaery knocked the gowns out of the nurse’s hands. “Tell me where Sansa is right now or—”

“Calm yourself, Wayfarer,” the PA speaker said through a blast of static. “Please follow Nurse Westerling’s instructions. We wish for the process to go smoothly so as not to risk any unnecessary stress to your persons.”

The nurse bent to pick up the gowns, but Margaery was having none of it. She stared up at the speaker. Then, realizing it couldn’t see her, she turned her gaze to the one-way mirror. “What do you want from us? Where’s Sansa?”

The speaker didn’t respond.

Margaery pounded her palm against the glass. “I said what. Have. You. Done with her?” she said through gritted teeth. “If you’ve hurt her in any way, I’ll—”

“All of your friend’s tests have come back negative,” a different voice replied. Different from the first, but definitely one Theon recognized. It was, of course, Qyburn. “After extensive testing, no enhanced abilities were identified. Brain scans reveal no anomalous readings to indicate psychic activity. It appears your friend’s earlier fit was just that…a fit.” A weary, frustrated sigh caused the system to static again. “I have been known to make a mistake on occasion.”

“Where is she now?” Margaery demanded.

More silence.

“I said—”

“She’s been released.”

Theon blinked. Margaery looked as surprised as he felt. “Released?” he repeated.

“Yes, Mr. Greyjoy. There was much discussion on what was to become of her. With no psychic abilities we can’t very well use her in our secondary operations. And her build is inappropriate to incorporate her into our primary operations.” He gave a thoughtful pause, drawing the moment out. “Yes, the suggestion was put out there that she might be…retired.”

Margaery punched the mirror. Predictably, it did not give.

Qyburn chuckled. “Now, now, Wayfarer, don’t shoot the messenger. In any case, they rejected _that_ particular suggestion. It’s been decided that it would simply be more efficient to send her on her way. With new memories of where she’s been the last few hours, of course.”

Theon was glad to hear it, but at the same time knew there had to be a catch. These people didn’t do things out of the kindness of their hearts, after all.

“Now,” Qyburn continued, “if you would kindly get dressed for your procedure, we can—”

“You’re just letting her go?” Margaery interrupted, putting voice to Theon’s concerns. “Just like that?”

“It wasn’t my decision. I can’t tell you what management was thinking, nor, do I think, would I be cleared to divulge that information to you in any case. For now, rest assured that she is well and unharmed. She was dropped off at your hotel room.”

Theon didn’t like it. It was too convenient.

“Now, please get dressed for your procedure. It will be quite quick and relatively painless if you don’t resist.”

“Jon,” Theon said.

Margaery turned from the mirror to give him a questioning look.

“You’re going to use Sansa to get to Jon, aren’t you?”

Silence from the speaker.

That was answer enough. These people—whoever they were—were picking up psychics like collector coins. And Qyburn held a special fascination with Jon’s “naturally occurring” powers. He’d want Jon. He’d want him badly, especially after the prospect of Sansa’s “naturally occurring” powers had been ripped away from him.

“Please put on your medical gowns,” the first voice said. “We will not ask you again.”

The nurse had gathered the gowns and now held one out in each hand.

Neither Theon nor Margery made a move.

“Very well,” the voice said in irritation. “Codename: Ghost will go first.”

From the doorway, two scrub-wearing orderlies appeared. They were, both of them, fairly large men. Theon’s knees went out from under him as they approached. This was familiar. Flashlights shining in through his prison cell, hands grabbing him, dragging him away, pinning him down to a gurney as his head was shaved. Ramsay’s hands, grabbing him, touching him. This was far too familiar.

They stepped around the nurse and kept coming, hands reaching for him.

“No,” he whimpered, crawling away. Like a worm. “No, please.”

They came forward and he crawled back. Back into the far corner.

“Don’t you touch him.”

The next thing he knew, Margaery had stepped in front of him, putting herself between Theon and the orderlies. She was half the size of one of them, let alone the two of them together. And yet she stood there, arms held out. It shocked Theon, and it shocked the orderlies, who stopped their advance and looked to the mirror, as if it could give them any direction.

The voice over the speaker sounded more irate. “Wayfarer, stand aside. We aren’t going to hurt Ghost. Or you, for that matter.”

“Theon,” she growled. “His name Theon Greyjoy and my name is Margaery Tyrell, you fucker. And I already know you’re a lying sack of shit. Whatever you’re planning to do with us…I’m betting it will end with us in those freezing cold storage lockers downstairs.”

The voice over the speaker sighed. “Very well. You will go first, Wayfarer. Take her, gentlemen.”

The orderlies advanced, grinning like madmen.

“But remember,” the voice added, “don’t hurt her. Management will not be pleased if their resource is damaged.”

The first orderly grabbed Margaery’s wrist. She shrieked and lashed out at him, but the other orderly grabbed her other arm. “No!” Her scream echoed off the closed-in walls as they wrestled her to the ground. “No, don’t touch me!”

The nurse stepped forward holding the gown out. “She will need to be put into this.”

Margaery’s screams turned from defiant to plain terror as the orderlies began pulling off her dress. “No! Stop! Stop! I’ll undress myself. I promise. I promise I’ll be a good girl!”

Theon was curled in the corner still, watching. He wanted to clasp his hands over his ears, squeeze his eyes closed, drown out her screaming. It was too hard to listen to. Too familiar. But there was a voice inside his head. _You can’t just sit here and let this happen. Do something!_

Tears were streaming down Margaery’s face now as her dress was pulled over her head. They pinned her to the floor on her stomach and began working the clasps on her green polka-dot bra. She pressed her cheek into the concrete floor, eyes meeting his, and sobbed.

_She stood up for you. Do something!_

Theon untangled himself. Slowly. Rose to his feet. Slowly. So slowly that nobody—not the orderlies or the nurse or Margaery—noticed it. He took a step forward. Then another.

He stood behind the first orderly, who was pinning Margaery’s arms above her head so the second one could slip the bra off. He didn’t notice. Didn’t see or hear Theon. _Sneak up on them like a ghost._

Theon threw himself at the man. Wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and latched onto his back.

The orderly yelped in surprise, jumped up. He reached behind his back, grabbed Theon’s shoulder, and pulled. Something _popped_. Theon let go, but the man held on. “Fucker!” he spat, and threw Theon against the wall.

Theon hit face first. The copper taste of blood erupted in his mouth. He curled in on himself, shielding his shoulder. _Hurts, hurts. He’ll hurt you worse. Don’t, don’t…_

He clasped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes closed. Margaery continued to scream. There was rustling of cheap, papery fabric. Margaery stopped screaming but continued to sob as footsteps ushered her out of the room.

Something cheap and papery fluttered to the ground in front of him. He looked up to see the nurse. “Please have this on by the time we return,” she said flatly. “Do not make them use force on you as well.” She then turned and left. And closed the door behind her.

Theon remained huddled in the corner for several minutes after that. Waiting for his heart to slow down. But it didn’t.

Margaery’s clothes had been left in a haphazard pile on the floor. One of her bra straps had been ripped. He’d tried to help. He’d tried! It wasn’t his fault Theon was useless.

Yes, Theon was useless. He’d willingly taken away the one thing that had made him useful.

Ghost.

There was a whole morgue right under his feet.

A morgue meant dead people.

Dead people meant ghosts.

Slowly, he sat up and reached around the back of his head. Felt the sleek plastic at the base of his neck.

He dug his nails into the flesh. Dug and gritted his teeth against the pain.

“Ghost, what are you doing?”

He ignored the speaker.

“Ghost?”

He felt the base of the stud. He held tight. And pulled.

The inhibitor took a chunk of flesh and blood with it, but he’d seen Cersei Lannister do this exact thing and knew he would survive.

Over the speaker, the voice cackled.

Theon dropped the bloody inhibitor and sat back.

And waited for the ghosts to show.


	11. This: Stranger

“Sansa, what—?”

“Jon,” she interrupted. She sounded very…chipper for someone who’d passed out, been admitted to the hospital, and then subsequently kidnapped. “I was wondering if you wanted to get together before I have to head back to university tomorrow.”

“What’s she saying?” Sam asked.

Jon waved him the universal “not now” sign and stood, cupping the phone to his ear for better privacy. “Where are you?”

“In the hotel room,” Sansa sighed. “Margaery left me here all alone. She and Theon wanted to catch up on some…psychic stuff, I guess. Which, hey, I’m totally cool with. I’m not the jealous type at all.”

“Sansa…” Jon stopped, wondering if the person he was talking to was actually Sansa at all. He’d seen with his own eyes the footage of her being wheeled into the ambulance and driven away. Maybe she’d just been transferred to another hospital? That seemed…exceptionally unlikely. “Um…what did the doctors have to say?” he asked at last.

“What doctors?”

“At the hospital.”

“Who’s in the hospital?” Her voice jumped an octave.

“You,” Jon hissed. “You were in the hospital.”

A pause. “No I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were. You collapsed at lunch.”

“No, we finished lunch, then Margaery said she’d meet me back at the hotel room. She wanted to catch up with Theon.”

“I got a message from Theon that you were at the hospital after collapsing at lunch.”

“Well…maybe he’s playing a trick on you,” she said, sounding more and more annoyed. “I don’t know why he would lie about something like that, but I’ve been here all afternoon.”

“I went to the hospital, and they confirmed you’d been checked in.” He didn’t know what else he should tell her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said, clearly irritated now. “I’m telling you, I never collapsed. I never went to the hospital. Margaery gave me some money to go to the hotel spa. That’s where I’ve been, so sorry if you tried to call earlier.”

“Sansa…” Jon hesitated. What if this was someone pretending to be his cousin? “Something very strange is going on.”

“Strange how?”

“I think Theon and Margaery might be in trouble.”

“In trouble?” There it was. Her concern was back in full force. “Jon, what’s all this? You’re acting very strange yourself. Why do you think Theon and Margaery are in trouble?”

Jon looked over his shoulder at Sam and Gilly, who were watching him with rapt curiosity. He couldn’t ask Sansa to come here. That had disaster written all over it. “I can’t talk over the phone,” he said, turning back. “Where did you say your hotel was located?”

 

***

 

Margaery had spared no expense; no way a college student like Sansa could afford to stay at the swanky Triple Dragon Crown Suites downtown. Jon must have looked like a ratty hobo off the streets because the receptionist gave him the stink eye, then gave Ghost the stink eye. Jon set his cane on the counter. “Service dog,” he explained with a smile. “Uh, I’m expected in Room 517, Sansa Stark.”

The woman did not immediately react. Then, nose wrinkled in distaste, she lifted the little red phone and dialed the room number. “Yes, Ms. Stark, there’s a…guest here to see you.” Her face gave no indication of what Sansa had said, but she did huff in disgust as she put the phone back in its cradle. “Very well, Mr. Snow. I’ll ring you in.”

Jon and Ghost made their way to the elevator, but Ghost kept whining and looking back at the security guard who followed a few paces behind them. “Easy there, boy.” Jon rested a hand on Ghost’s head. “He’s probably just making sure we’re not up to no good.” Either that or he was one of the people Mrs. Drogo had warned him about. But that was why Ghost was here in the first place.

The elevator dinged open. Easily one of the nicest elevators Jon had ever been in. All gold leaf plating and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. He made a strange reflection, dark hair tangled and windswept, clothes soaked through with snow, an oversized husky tagging along at his side. He also caught a glimpse of the security guard—fairly big guy, dark hair, unremarkable face—making for the elevator and decided he wouldn’t give the man the chance. He hit the “close door” button and watched with satisfaction as the man glowered at him through the closing elevator doors.

“He looks like he’s in a good shape,” Jon said to Ghost, who looked up at him with the dim understanding of a dog. “He can use the stairs if he wants to follow me so badly.”

The elevator lurched, Ghost stumbled, and they shot up to the fifth floor. Jon wasted no time in finding Sansa’s door. He would rather be in her room with the door locked behind them when that security guard finally made it up the stairs. If he really was a security guard. Luckily, Sansa answered right away and waited until he was inside before giving him a big hug.

Growing up, they had never been particularly close. Mrs. Stark had told her early that he wasn’t their real brother, and she had never seemed to get over that. She always made sure to introduce him to others as her cousin, and when she was really little, before Mrs. Stark told her it was rude, she would always follow any introduction up with, “His parents are dead. That’s why he lives with us.”

They had always shared a great fondness for Robb, though. After his funeral, she had dropped a lot of her cold indifference to him, crying on his shoulder during the after ceremony, telling him her true thoughts about what bullshit a “life celebration” really was. Even if they hadn’t been, well, _close_ exactly, it was good to see her growing into a worldly young woman.

Jon slipped the chain lock closed, even though the door had an automatic lock, and Sansa invited him to sit in the parlor for some coffee. The freaking _hotel_ room had a parlor. A little tea table by the window looking out over the city. It was almost scenic by night. Jon wasn’t sure if he should sit or not. In the end, his leg decided for him and he took a seat at the window.

“Okay, now,” Sansa said. She seemed far too cavalier about the whole situation. “What’s this about Theon and Margaery being in trouble? They were fine when I talked to them just a little while ago.”

 “When was the last time you saw them?”

“At the restaurant,” she answered promptly. “That was about…” She checked her watch. “Five hours ago.”

“And you think they’ve been spending this whole time…catching up?”

She shrugged. “Margaery sent me a text message saying they decided to get drinks with some friends.”

“And when was that?”

“Right after you called, actually.”

Jon blinked. “Sansa, listen, whoever sent that text to you…I don’t think it’s Margaery.”

Sansa frowned. “She sent me a picture.” She got her phone from the nightstand near the bed and opened up her texts, then turned the screen around to show him. Sure enough, there were Margaery and Theon, standing outside Imp’s Delight Wine Bar. Theon had his arm slung over Margaery’s shoulder. He looked very drunk.

“That’s impossible.” Jon reached for her phone. She initially pulled away, shielding the device defensively, then relenting and handing it over. Jon studied it. “I saw the camera footage. You and Margaery and Theon were all taken out of the hospital. You were all unconscious. There are records of you being checked in. You don’t remember any of that?”

“Is this some sort of joke?”

“I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his tangled hair. “I do know that there’s no way Margaery sent this picture to you.” He studied it more intently, looking for the telltale indications of Photoshop, of something that might date the picture to an earlier time, of any sign that it wasn’t real. He also contemplated the possibility of a psychic trick. _Maybe Sam can do something with it_.

“Jon, you’re beginning to scare me.”

Jon handed her phone back and took out his own. “Hold on a minute. I’ll explain everything, but first I’ve got to make a call.” He went to his newly added contacts.

The line on the other end rang twice before a voice answered. “I knew you’d call.”

“I’ve thought about our discussion, Mrs. Drogo.”

There came a knock at the door. A gentle tap, followed by, “Room service.”

Sansa leapt up to answer it.

Jon, phone still to his ear, reached for her to try to stop her, but she was too quick. She pulled back the door.

Luckily, the chain caught. In the crack of the door, two eyes peered in. It was the security guard from the lobby.

“You’re room service?” Sansa asked, skeptical in that split second before Jon reached her and pulled her back.

He slammed the door closed, but the large man pushed back. Jon threw his weight into it, and yet the man wouldn’t budge. “Let me in,” he demanded, “or I’ll rip your throat out.”

Sansa screamed.

Ghost barked.

The man slammed into the door, loosening the screw keeping the chain lock in place. Jon cursed and kept pushing back. “Sansa,” he called, “get my phone! It’s on the bed.”

She ran to fetch it.

“You gonna call the police?” The man laughed. “The cops can’t help you now, you dumb bitch!” He rammed the door again, pulling the screw completely loose. Hands reached through the door, scrabbling to grab the handle.

Jon continued to hold the door as best he could, and Ghost continued to bark.

Sansa came back, fumbling Jon’s phone with shaking hands. “Speaker phone,” Jon instructed, since his hands were otherwise occupied.

“Jon?” Mrs. Drogo’s voice rang out. “Jon Snow, are you alright?”

“No, I’m having a little—”

One more shove from the outside and Jon was flung inwards. The man stood there, silhouetted in the door frame, a wicked grin on his face. Sansa screamed and dropped the phone. The call ended.

“Sansa,” Jon instructed, slowly, levelly, “I want you to go lock yourself in the bathroom. Don’t come out. Don’t open the door, even if you think it’s me. Got it?”

She nodded and ran for the bathroom. Jon waited to hear the click of the lock, then turned to the intruder.

“You’re with the people who took Theon.” It wasn’t a question. “What did you do with him?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, pretty boy.”

The intruder advanced.

Jon backed up. Not to run, but to make sure he had a safe space to collapse. When he was up against the bed, he reached out with his mind. Practice made recognizing Ghost’s mind easy, and he slipped in without difficulty.

Jon as Ghost put himself between the bad man and his master. He bared his teeth. _Don’t come any closer_.

The bad man curled his lip, an obvious sign of aggression, and stepped forward. A clear violation of Ghost’s warning.

Ghost lunged and grabbed the bad man by the arm. Teeth bit through cloth to find the skin beneath. The bad man cried out when the taste of blood filled Ghost’s mouth. “Shit! Fuck!” The bad man tried to shake him off. Ghost remembered another bad man. A bad man who’d hurt his master and his master’s mate. A bad man Ghost had killed.

Of course, back then, Ghost had had the advantage of taking the bad man by surprise. This bad man fought back, and he was pretty strong. Ghost managed to drag him down to his knees while the man punched him repeatedly in the snout. There was blood everywhere, and not all of it was the man’s. Still, Ghost held on, whipping his head back and forth to cause the maximum amount of tearing.

Then a blow hit him right between the eyes, and that finally knocked him loose. He went staggering back, whimpering as his vision swam. He’d failed, he’d failed, the bad man was getting back to his feet, was—

Jon was thrown back into his body. When he’d first been getting used to his powers, such a violent snap-back would have had him reeling. But he’d practiced since then. Practiced enough that he came right back to his mind and grabbed for the side arm at the intruder’s belt before the man had fully recovered from Ghost’s attack.

The intruder froze as Jon pressed the gun against the back of his head. “Alright now,” he said, holding the gun steady. He was an ex-cop after all. “I think the two of us may have gotten off on the wrong foot. Let’s start again. I’m Jon Snow.” He cocked the gun. “Who are you?”


	12. That: Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even if he's dead, Ramsay is still his own warning.

“Know you.”

Theon peeked up over the ridge of his knees. There was a man in the holding cell with him. He hadn’t heard anyone come in, and he certainly would have heard this guy. For one, he was about eight feet tall. You didn’t easily forget someone built like a human mountain. The other guards at Bolton Penitentiary had only called him “Gregor.”

He scoffed as he eyed Theon now. “Had white hair.” He gestured to his own hair.

“You’re dead?” Theon asked.

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Guess.”

And he was _here_ , so… “Are you one of the bodies in the basement?”

“They fucked it up,” he grunted, shaking his head. “Fucked it up real bad.”

“They?”

“Told me I would get _money_. Told me I wouldn’t have to be a guard no more.”

“Who?” Theon repeated.

“The man with the one eye and his bitch.”

“Did he give you a name?”

“Greyjoy.”

Theon sat up straight. “Euron?”

“Maybe.”

Shit. It really had been his uncle then.

“Is he the one who’s in charge?”

Gregor shrugged.

“You said there was someone else with him? A bi—a woman. What was her name?”

“Flora? Falla? Don’t remember.”

Theon wracked his brain, but he couldn’t think of anyone he knew with a name like that. Of course, his uncle—all of his uncles, really—ran in social circles he wasn’t exactly familiar with. The kind of social circles that had gotten Maron and Rodrik gunned down in the streets.

Was this just another mafia deal? Or, more terrifyingly, had Euron gone legit, gotten himself some big-time backers?

“What can you tell me about how you died?” Theon pressed. He repositioned himself against the wall. God, his shoulder was screaming. “The one-eyed man and this woman…they offered you a job?”

“Said I wouldn’t have to work no more,” Gregor said, repeating his earlier sentiment. “Said I would get paid.”

“So you…volunteered,” Theon ventured. “For, like, a medical study or something?” That might make sense, since Qyburn and the other doctors from Project Greenseer were here. Perhaps they’d gotten to the super solider phase and Gregor was one of their unlucky failures.

“Wanted to put needles in me, some sort of medicine. Said I would get _paid_.”

“What sort of medicine?”

“Doctor used fancy words. Said I was a big guy, an ideal candidate.” Even that last three-syllable word seemed difficult for Gregor, so Theon didn’t doubt for a moment that whatever the doctor had explained to him had gone straight over his head. He likely wouldn’t be getting much useful information about that.

“I see,” he said anyway. “Um…one last question. Do you know where we are?”

Gregor looked up at the ceiling, then down at the ground. “Research building. Big research building for Walker & White. Came to work here after Roose’s gig went tits up. Said they would hire me. Didn’t care about any ongoing investigation.”

“White & Walker,” Theon repeated. “The pharmaceutical company.”

Gregor looked blankly at him.

“Drugs?”

He nodded.

That was something, the first hopeful bit of information he’d gotten. If he could somehow get it to the outside, he could let Jon know where he was.

“Thank you,” he said. It felt odd, thanking the man who had once escorted him from his cell to Qyburn’s lab. “For answering my questions.”

Gregor eyed him intensely. “No one else talks to me.” And with that, he turned and walked through the wall.

 

***

 

Theon waited a few minutes to see if any other ghosts would show up. But it had been a while since Margaery had been taken from the room, and he knew the orderlies would be back soon. He did not intend to have a replay of that scene, so he picked up the gown the nurse had left at his feet and stood to undress.

Stripping off his shirt was difficult with his injured shoulder, but he’d practically perfected the art of slipping into and out of these hospital gowns. He began on his pants when a chilled breeze sent ripples of goose flesh across his skin.

He froze.

“Why’d you stop, Ghost? Don’t tell me you’re suddenly shy.”

He was facing the mirror. There was no reflection. Still, he knew exactly who was standing behind him.

“You stripped for me like a good little bitch plenty of times.”

“You’re dead.”

“Ah, I guess so. Your lover boy ripped my throat out with his teeth. Charming, isn’t that?”

“Leave me alone.”

“What’s the fun in that, Ghost?” Ramsay laughed.

Theon squeezed his eyes closed.

“You don’t really think that will work, do you?”

“Go away!”

“I’ve missed you, Ghost. I miss life. I miss having warm blood in my veins and splattered all over me. I wish I could be on that side again. Maybe I’ll just…” Cold air brushed against the base of his spine, where he’d pulled his inhibitor out. It seemed to go all the way to his brain. “Slip inside. Reacquaint myself with your body. For old time’s sake.”

“I won’t let you.”

“I bet you couldn’t stop me either. You’re weak, not used to using your powers. Blocking me out all this time.” He gave a harsh, barking laugh. “Know what I’ll do? Once I’m inside, I’ll use your body to rape your lover boy. He’ll be all, ‘Why are you doing this? I thought you loved me?’”

“Good thing it doesn’t work like that,” Theon wanted to say. “You can only get if I let you. Or if I’m unconscious. Then you go away when I wake up.” He didn’t say any of that, though. It didn’t want to leave his mouth.

His eyes were still squeezed shut. He knew it wouldn’t make Ramsay go away. But it was the only defense he had.

“I think I hear someone coming. Better hurry up and undress. Unless you miss being manhandled so much. You wanna make them fight for it a little bit? Don’t worry, I’m sure one of those big, burly orderlies would be more than happy to bend you over and fuck your brains out.”

Theon’s hands shook, still gripping the waistband of his pants. He couldn’t disrobe in front of Ramsay. He couldn’t—

Ramsay was dead. Couldn’t hurt him anymore. Didn’t have hands or a body to hurt him with.

_He can still watch._

_Then let him watch._

Theon pulled his pants down and kicked them away, trying to ignore Ramsay’s barking laugh.

“Does your lover boy like fucking a skeleton? Does he like feeling all the scars I left?”

Theon ignored him and reached for the gown. His fingers didn’t want to tie the laces in back properly, but he could do the one at his waist. He sat on the bench and waited.

And waited and waited.

About five minutes later, the door opened. Ramsay hadn’t heard anyone coming. Just another lie.

The two orderlies who’d dragged Margaery away seemed surprised to see Theon waiting for them, dressed appropriately. “You gonna come quietly now?” one asked uncertainly.

Theon nodded and stood. “Where’s Margaery?”

“None of your business.” The second orderly cocked his head. “Come along now, and don’t make any fuss.”

Theon went, and behind him he heard Ramsay’s laughter. “You’re making it too easy on them, Ghost. Too easy.”


	13. This: MTPD2

“Victarion Greyjoy,” Jon said into the phone. “Ever heard of him?”

Mrs. Drogo was silent a moment. He heard some soft whispering in the background.

“Jorah recognizes the name,” Mrs. Drogo said. “The Greyjoys are a mafia family, mainly drugs and weapons, but they have a few off-shore operations as well.”

“But you’ve never come across them in your…research?”

“Only your boyfriend,” she responded.

Jon held the phone away from his mouth so she wouldn’t hear his frustrated sigh. So, she had nothing new. Nothing Jaime hadn’t already been able to tell him.

“See what you can find on the name,” he said after he had calmed down a bit. “I’ve got to go. Officer Tarth is here.” _Hopefully with more information_.

Brienne had certainly given him an earful when she’d arrived on the scene in the hotel. She berated him—in front of both her partner and Sansa—that he should have called sooner, should have called the minute he suspected foul play, what was his thinking going off on his own, and yeah he was a private detective now but what was he thinking going private detective in a kidnapping case…

She had a thick file tucked under one arm, another file in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other. Jaime was nowhere to be seen, so presumably he was still interrogating their suspect in one of the station’s detention cells. She sighed and threw the file onto the table. Several papers slipped out. “Your guy,” she began. “He’s a very bad man.”

She took a seat at the head of the table. Jon and Gilly and even Sansa leaned in closer. Sam had agreed to Ghost-sitting, but only because neither Gilly nor Jon thought it prudent to bring a volatile “technomancer” into a police station filled with sensitive, and expensive, electronics.

Brienne opened the file.

“Victarion Greyjoy,” she said, pulling out a mug shot. Yes, that was their intruder alright. “Has a rap sheet as long as, well…” She hefted the thick file. “Smuggling, dealing, bribery, assault, assault with a weapon, possession of illegal weapons, attempted manslaughter, successful manslaughter…” She paused and shook her head. “Killed several members of a rival gang in a shoot-out, but the charge that finally stuck and earned him fifty years in prison was the murder of his wife during a domestic dispute.”

“Fifty years?” Jon parroted. “I take it he didn’t serve his entire sentence.”

“Was out in seven. The judge mysteriously overturned the ruling.”

Jon studied the picture. “Have you confirmed if he’s related to Theon?”

“Uncle,” she said.

“Perhaps he wanted Theon’s inheritance?” Sansa suggested meekly. She was still pretty shaken from the ordeal. Jon said she didn’t have to come with them to the station, that they could get two police officers to watch her, but she’d insisted on coming. Margaery was missing as well, after all.

“If that’s the case, you should probably put someone on Asha’s case as well,” Jon said. “She got the majority of their father’s money. But…I don’t think that’s it. If that was the case, why kidnap Margaery and Sansa as well?”

“Crime of opportunity?” Gilly shrugged. “Perhaps they were planning to…do something with the girls.”

Sansa’s face went pale at the implication.

“Then why let Sansa go? They set up a trap.” Jon jabbed his finger at Victarion’s mugshot. “They wanted Theon and they wanted Margaery, and they want me too. What do we all have in common? We were all involved in Project Greenseer.” He turned to Brienne. “Any information on this guy’s current criminal activity?”

“He’s been fairly quiet the last year or so. We figured it was because of Balon Greyjoy’s death. According to reports, there was a meeting of the ‘family’ to discuss who should take over the business. By all accounts, our boy here wasn’t chosen.”

“Then who was?”

Brienne smiled and pulled the other file out from under her arm. It made an audible thunk as it hit the table. “Euron Greyjoy,” she said. “Known by his street name, Crow’s Eye. Makes our boy Vicatarion look like a Boy Scout. We’ve got all that good, wholesome stuff from Vicatarion’s file, on top of sexual assault, sexual battery, sexual assault of a minor—”

“Stop, stop!” Sansa cried. She threw her hands over her face.

“You get the picture,” Brienne said. She took out Euron Greyjoy’s mugshot and gave it to Jon.

Jon didn’t recognize the face, though he supposed he would if he ever met the man in real life. He had very striking features, like Theon, with dark hair that fell in waves down to his shoulders. A tattoo of a squid tentacle appeared from the under the collar of his shirt and worked its way up his neck. Most interesting, he had heterochromia. The picture was black and white, so Jon couldn’t sure of the true colors, but one eyes was dark while the other was pale. He was one of those assholes who smirked for a mugshot. Jon immediately didn’t like him.

“I’m guessing you’re not showing this to us for no reason,” he said.

“Euron’s not the type to go clean,” Brienne said, leaning forward on the table. “The fact that we haven’t heard a peep out of him in over a year…it’s concerning.”

Jon stood. “I need to talk to him.”

Brienne stood as well, glaring him down. “That’s not going to happen, Jon. Now sit back down.”

“What if he’s got something to do with Theon’s disappearance?”

“Then Jaime and I will take care of it. Along with a whole SWAT team if need be. But there’s no way you and your dog are going to come out of a confrontation with this guy in one piece. Hell, you nearly didn’t make it out of your fight with Vicatarion in one piece, and he didn’t have any backup. Probably thought you’d be an easy target. He’s the brawn of the four Greyjoy brothers. Balon had the money sense. But Euron…Euron is the brains, if brains makes you batshit insane and unpredictable.”

 “Who’s the fourth?”

Brienne blinked. “Huh?”

“You said there were _four_ Greyjoy brothers.”

“Oh, uh…” She rifled through Euron’s file. “Um…Aeron,” she answered. “Youngest sibling. No known criminal history. There’s a note here not to contact him about Euron. Apparently he becomes quite belligerent.” Brienne shrugged. “I’m guessing there was a falling out.”

“Hmm,” Jon agreed. He was thinking. Thinking about what Mrs. Drogo had told him. “Do these men have ties to any drug companies? Pharmaceutical drugs, I mean.”

Brienne looked startled. She quickly rifled through both Euron and Victarion’s files. “Do you mean counterfeit medication or…?”

“Any mention of White & Walker?”

Brienne gave him a helpless shrug. “I’m not seeing anything.”

Jon waved her off. “That’s fine. It was just a thought.”

“A thought from where?” She frowned. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

Jon didn’t answer.

“You know you can trust me and Jaime implicitly, right? Whatever you’re—”

“The hospital,” Sansa interrupted.

All eyes turned to her. She shrank back, turning slightly pink.

“You remember?” Jon asked.

She shook her head. “No, but…I’m taking a class on pharmaceuticals and sales representatives. White & Walker would be at the hospital regularly, marketing their prescriptions to physicians and whatnot. If you’re looking for a connection…although it seems pretty tenuous…”

“No,” Jon said. “No, not at all. In fact—” He stood. “—I’m surprised I didn’t think of it earlier.”

Brienne held up a hand. “I’m confused. Why is White & Walker a suspect in a kidnapping case? I mean, I’ve heard of stranger things since I joined on with the force, but I would like to know _why_.”

“I’ll explain,” Jon said, taking out his phone. “Or better yet, I’ll have her explain.”

“Her?”

“One of my clients. She’s the one who said White & Walker were involved. I think she might be onto something.” He paused dialing. “White & Walker have a research lab around here, don’t they?”

“About an hour north,” Gilly said.

Now it was her turn for scrutiny as everyone in the room simultaneously shot her a how-did-you-know-that look.

“My father worked security for them,” she answered, face growing grim. “Can we please not talk about him?”

“So, you know the facility?” Jon asked.

“I know enough about it, I guess. I know that they specialize in treating rabies, for example, and that the security clearance to get in was super high.”

“We can look into it,” Brienne said.

“Actually…” Jon stood. “ _I_ can look into it.” He looked to Gilly. “I don’t suppose you know if they do _animal_ testing there.”


	14. That: Heading Down

Theon had had his first lumbar puncture, more colloquially known as a spinal tap, a few days after his brain surgery. There were many more afterwards. He knew the procedure. When they showed him to the table, he got on and lay down in the proper position—knees to chest, chin angled downwards—without a fuss and kept his focus straight ahead so he wouldn’t see the nurse preparing the needle.

“I’m going to administer a quick local anesthetic,” the nurse said.  He recognized her voice from the waiting room. What had Qyburn said her name was? Westerly?

There was a slight prick at the base of his spine.

“Where’s Margaery?” he asked as they both waited for the anesthetic to kick in.

“She’s well,” the nurse replied. “She’s been sedated.”

“Where is she now?”

“Recovering.”

Thirty seconds or so ticked by.

“I’m going to perform the puncture now. You will feel a pressure.”

He felt a hand on his hip and flinched. “Please,” he said, “I won’t squirm or anything. Can you not?”

“I require something to hold onto,” the nurse said. After a pause, she added, “I will make it quick.”

He closed his eyes as the needle stabbed through the skin of his lower back, through and through, pinching between his vertebrae, until it found the right depth. Then the nurse’s hand was gone. Theon breathed a sigh of relief.

“Remain still.”

Theon didn’t dare move.

“I am almost done.”

Theon didn’t dare breathe.

“Finished.” With a popping sound, the pressure was gone. “You may sit up slowly if you want.”

Theon did while the nurse disposed of the needle and twisted a cap onto the contents of the syringe, which she then labeled. Without looking up, she said in the same monotone, “How are you feeling? Any dizziness, discomfort, pain, blurry vision?”

“Do you care?”

“I have been asked to ensure you remain comfortable.”

There was something wrong with her, something blank about her eyes. Like she wasn’t in there at all. It was creepy as shit, impersonal, and yet still preferable to Dr. Qyburn. Theon decided he would appease her robot-like need to assess him.

“I’ve had worse. At the other facility, they didn’t bother with the anesthetic.”

The nurse set the syringe on a tray and turned to him. “Your previous care provider was substandard,” she recited. “We at White & Walker provide only the best care for our patients. It is my job to personally put the patient’s comfort and safety above all else.”

“White & Walker?” Theon repeated. That name again. He’d seen their ads on the TV, all the smiling people looking straight into the camera as a lady with a soothing voice narrated about how much “White & Walker cares about the community.” And come to think of it, hadn’t they offered to pay his medical bills?

“White & Walker cares about the community,” the nurse said.

Theon sighed in frustration. Why were dead people more forthcoming than living ones? “Are we done here?”

“We are done with all your tests for today. Dr. Maz Durr will be by shortly.”

Theon started to get up  from the table, then stopped. “Dr. Maz Durr?” The name didn’t sound familiar. “Not Dr. Qyburn?”

“Dr. Qyburn is advising on your case, but Dr. Maz Durr is in charge.” She paused. “Dr. Maz Durr is a genius.”

“Who _is_ Dr. Maz Durr?”

“She’s a genius,” the nurse repeated. “She’s going to change the face of medical science.”

Theon had a weird sinking feeling in his gut. Perhaps it was the low pressure in his head from the spinal tap, but everything was making less and less sense. This was looking less and less like Project Greenseer 2.0 and more like…something else entirely. Medical science? Pharmaceutical companies? Why would his uncle Euron be involved in any of _that_? A paramilitary project like Project Greenseer—yeah, it was a bit of a stretch, but his uncle had dealings with weapons and crooked politicians on a daily basis. Drugs? The perfectly legal kind that helped sick people? Not so much.

“Would you prefer to wait here for Dr. Maz Durr?” Nurse Westerly or Westering or whatever said. “Or would you prefer to return to the waiting area? I can have your clothes brought here so you may dress.”

“Does it matter what I prefer?”

“No,” she answered bluntly this time, though probably because either choice was equally valid. “You may be more comfortable in the waiting area. Shall I request the orderlies to escort you back there?”

“No.” Theon stood, too quickly. He reeled for a second.

She cocked her head. “I would advise you to refrain from quick movements or strenuous activity for the next forty-eight hours. Do you require medical care? It is my job to personally put your comfort and safety above all else.”

“No, I’m fine.” Theon steadied himself against the bed. “No orderlies. No care. Just…” He pressed his palm against his forehead. “Can I please have my clothes now?”

 

***

 

It felt odd, being allowed to dress. During his time at Bolton Penitentiary, he’d become used to being parading around in all manner of undress. Used to, but not comfortable.

Nurse Whatever left the room while he took off his hospital gown and slipped into his t-shirt. She was robotic, obviously following someone else’s script—he shuddered to think the words that came out of her mouth were her own—but he appreciated her concern. Fake concern, for sure, but the illusion of it was important. Nobody at the prison facility, not even his fellow test subjects, had ever even pretended he was anything other than a lab rat.

Of course, it was sending his coping mechanisms into overdrive. The insistence that he was a person, coupled with the kidnapping and forced medical testing, was doing strange things to his mind. He could feel Ghost under the surface. It would be easier to be Ghost. Ghost was an empty shell. Theon could go away and let them use his body—Roose, Ramsay, whoever, whatever.

It would be easier, but he couldn’t. Not while Margaery was still here with him. Not while Jon was still in trouble.

There was a polite knock at the door. Theon hurried to pull his shirt down and called, “I’m ready.”

“Dr. Maz Durr will see you know.” Nurse What’s-Her-Name held the door open for him. “Please follow me.”

Theon did. The orderlies followed closely behind.

The hallway was clean and sleek, nothing at all like the bare concrete walls under the prison facility. The worst thing you could say about it was the paint they’d chosen for the walls was too sickly green. Theon kept his eyes on the black-and-white-checkered floor until they came to another room.

Here the nurse knocked on the door again. A moment later, Margaery was led out by another nurse who handed her off to Nurse Waterlily. “Thank you,” she said flatly. “Are you able to walk?”

Margaery nodded. Strands of knotted hair fell over her face. Her shoulders were hunched. She looked pretty out of it. Sedatives.

Theon wanted to ask her if she were okay. He wanted to ask her a great many things, but he suspected now was not the time. She was drugged to the gills, and either the nurse or the orderlies would put an end to their conversation if they heard something they didn’t like.

They continued down the hallway. No one spoke. The only noise were five sets of footsteps, all off beat from each other, and the occasional scuff of a shoe on tiled floor. Every so often, one of the orderlies would sniff or clear their throat. The nurse made no noises to indicate she was even alive. Neither did Margaery.

“Pretty grim lot.”

Theon jumped at the voice in his ear. Then jumped again when he saw Ramsay walking right alongside him. He looked just like he had in life, and not in the last few seconds before death when Jon had “ripped his throat out” as Ramsay had so eloquently put it. No, there was no blood, no wounds. His skin was pale, yes, but he’d always been pale, especially when he wore his dark blue guard’s uniform. The one he was wearing now.

Theon instinctively recoiled from him, and one of the orderlies grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back.

“Look at you,” Ramsay said with that playful grin. Playful the way a cat toyed with its next meal. “Jumping at ghosts.”

Theon didn’t respond. Nobody else could see or hear him; it was better to keep his eyes on the ground than explain that he was talking to the ghost of his tormentor.

“Ignoring me, Ghost?”

Theon did.

“Well, you’re no fun.” Ramsay made a show of yawning and stretched his arms wide. They passed right through one of the orderlies, who showed no indication that he even noticed. “I came all the way from hell to check in on you, and you can’t be bothered to even talk to me? How’s that for gratitude.”

Theon missed a step.

“Well, if _you’re_ not going to talk to me, then _I’ll_ just talk to _you_. I bet you want to hear all about what hell is like.”

Theon shook his head. None of the other ghosts had ever talked about the afterlife. He didn’t _want_ to know.

Ramsay continued anyway. “Yeah, it’s true what they say in sept. All that bullshit about seven heavens and seven hells. True. The minute you die, your ass gets dragged before the Seven and you stand there while they review your life and weigh your sins and all that. They didn’t take too long to decide with me. Pretty cut and dry. You kill someone, you go straight to Hell Seven. I thought I knew what pain was. Let me tell you, you don’t know what real pain is until you’ve spent your first day in hell.”

“Shut up,” Theon hissed as quietly as he could from the corner of his mouth.

“I mean, I thought I was an inventive guy,” Ramsay went on, “but the demons they have in Hell Seven are on a whole other level. They send the most creative ones there, I think, to torture murderers and kinslayers.” He paused thoughtfully. “Say, you’re a murderer, aren’t you, Ghost?”

Theon shook his head. “No, no, stop talking.”

The orderly glared at him.

“Yeah, I know what you were doing time for,” Ramsay said. “You killed two kids. Ran them over with your car. ‘Oh,’ you might say, ‘I was drunk. It was an accident. I didn’t mean it.’ The Gods don’t really differentiate. You kill another human being, you’re a murderer.”

Theon slapped his hands over his ears. “Shut up!”

The orderly grabbed his shoulder. “Quiet you!”

Everyone stopped.

“What’s going on?” Nurse Waverly asked with just a hint of disapproval in her voice.

“He’s having a fit or something.”

She cocked her head. “Do you require assistance, Mr. Greyjoy?”

Theon shook his head.

“Then may we continue without further interruption?”

He nodded.

Ramsay laughed. Then sobered and put on his best mock-sympathy voice. “Oh my, it seems I’ve upset you.”

Theon tried to ignore him. Tried to ignore the shaking of his arms and legs.

“I mean, yeah, you’re going to hell and there’s nothing you can do about it. But look on the bright side.”

They came to elevator and piled in. Ramsay didn’t follow, much to Theon’s relief. He wouldn’t be able to stand it, trapped in a confined space with him.

No, Ramsay stood out in the hall, a board grin plastered on his face. He spread his arms wide. “Once you die and go to hell, I’ll be there waiting for you. We can spend all eternity together.”

The nurse pressed the down button and the elevator began to descend.


	15. This: All the Queen's Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dany's team is a mix of show and book characters, because I can.

The limo rounded the curve and everyone inside gave a collective gasp.

“Jon,” Sansa breathed, “who _is_ this woman?”

“And I thought _my_ father had a taste for the expensive.” Jaime gave a whistle. “I think he would have gotten along with your client.”

Jon recalled the way Mrs. Drogo had spoken so derisively about the Westerosi military, of whom the late Tywin Lannister had served as a general. “I doubt it.”

Jaime shrugged. “Fair enough. My father didn’t get along with anyone.”

The limo pulled up the long driveway to Mrs. Drogo’s rental chalet. Jon knew from childhood vacations with the Starks that the ski resort at the edge of town catered to the wealthy and famous, but even they had never stayed in such lodgings. The three-story monstrosity loomed over them, a veritable mansion of stone and wood and glass. Hardly inconspicuous for a woman who spoke of bugs and spies, but then again, they were about as close to the middle of nowhere as you could get in Westeros.

While the others ogled the house and its estate—Sam wondered aloud how much money they spent just to plow the driveway every day—Jon’s eyes were drawn upwards. He couldn’t say why, and in truth, it was only the movement of her hair in the wind that let him see her standing on the third-story deck—her hair, her skin, her coat as white as the snow surrounding her. She stared down, and Jon was certain in a way he couldn’t explain that she was staring at him. _Through_ the window of the limousine.

The limo stopped and the driver hopped out to open the door for them. They piled out—Jaime and Brienne first, insistently, then Gilly and Sam, clinging to one another. Sansa followed, then cast a look over her shoulder. “Do you need help?” she asked as Jon struggled to gather up his cane and Ghost’s leash.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Regardless, she held out a hand for him. Normally Jon would have insisted he was fine, but his fight with Victarion had not done any favors for his knee today. With reluctant gratitude, he took her hand.

She froze as soon as their fingers brushed.

“What? What is it?”

The others turned to see what was wrong.

Sansa put a hand to her forehead, and for a moment, Jon was terrified that she might collapse. She shook her head and quickly regained her senses. “Tingly…” she murmured, helping him out of the car.

“Tingly?”

“I just…had a strange sense of déjà vu, that’s all.” She let go of his hand. “I’m fine.”

Jon wanted to protest, wanted to remind her that she’d ended up in the hospital in the first place because she’d collapsed. But she didn’t seem to remember that. Perhaps Mrs. Drogo had someone who could see to it. They were a long way from any hospitals.

“I’m glad to see you’ve arrived safely.”

All heads turned as one to see Mrs. Drogo emerge from the entrance of the chalet, flanked on the right by a bulk of a man and on the left by a slip of a woman. Jon was again caught off guard by the odd color of her hair and the piercing color of her eyes. She had found a warmer coat since last they’d spoken, it seemed, as she now wore a knee-length number with excessive fur trimming about the hood. Dressed like that, standing like that, she looked like the Queen of Winter herself.

“It is good to see you again, Jon Snow.”

“And you as well, Mrs. Drogo.”

“Dany,” she corrected. “Please call me Dany.” She gestured to the limo driver, who bowed at the waist. “You’ve already met Jorah Mormont. He’s the only one I trusted to drive in the snow to get you.”

“I grew up in a Northern Winter,” the man said.

Jorah Mormont, the man who had been hired to spy on her? Jon wished he’d known that before he got into the limo.

Mrs. Drogo—Dany—didn’t linger on it, though. She motioned to her right. “This is my bodyguard, Belwas. He’s very loyal but doesn’t speak Westerosi.” She motioned to her left. “And this is my intelligence advisor, Missandei. She speaks nineteen languages. I will introduce you to my other men inside.” She nodded, and as a single procession, they all followed her inside.

The chalet was no less lavish on the inside than the out. Perhaps more so, as the true splendor of the building was largely buried in snow at the moment. The ceiling rose above them, held aloft with ironwood beams. Every item of furniture, from the oversized couches and lounging chairs to excessively long dining table to the animal-skin rugs, may as well have jumped from the pages of _Exclusive Living Magazine_. A raging fire immediately drew the eye to the hearth, where two men sat looking at a computer screen.

One of them was quite possibly the oddest-looking individual Jon had ever seen. His hair and tri-pronged beard had been dyed blue, his mustache gold. He looked up as they approached and flashed a smile which, not so surprisingly, held a gold tooth. The other man looked unremarkable in comparison, except that he had an excessively stern countenance. He did not look up.

“My head of security, Grey Worm,” Dany announced.

Of course a man with blue hair would be called Grey Worm.

It was the stern-faced man who looked up, though. “At your service.”

“And this is my intelligence collector, Daario Naharis.”

“Intelligence collector?” Sam piped up. “You mean to tell me _he’s_ a spy?”

Naharis flashed a tight smile. “I’m known to be quite subtle when the need arises.”

Jon couldn’t imagine there was anything subtle about this man.

“And… _your_ people?” Dany asked.

“Ah…” Jon flapped his mouth for a moment. “Um…this is Sansa, my cousin. Whoever took my boyfriend also took her girlfriend.”

Dany’s face softened. “I’m sorry.”

Sansa nodded politely. “Thank you.”

“Sam and Gilly,” Jon went on. “Sam just found out he’s a psychic.”

“Really?” Sansa blurted.

“Technomancer, actually.”

“But how—?”

“We can talk about that later, Sansa.”

She blushed. “Yes, of course. Sorry.”

“And lastly, Jaime Lannister and Brienne Tarth.”

“Lannister?” Dany’s eyes narrowed.

To his credit, Jaime didn’t react to her hostility. “I take it you’re familiar with my family?”

“Your father had my husband killed.”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding it. “For what it’s worth, he’s dead. Took a few lead pipes to the sternum.”

Dany glowered at him for a second, then turned to Jon. “Mr. Lannister, Mr. Tarly, and Ms. Tarth are all law enforcement officers, are they not?”

“They are,” he answered.

“Are any of you carrying firearms?”

Jaime placed his thumbs into the loops of his belt. “Maybe.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to surrender them.” She nodded to the dining table. “Please set them there. You may retrieve them later.”

“Look, if any of us had wanted to shoot you, we would have—”

Belwas stepped forward with a snarl.

Jaime looked up at him. “I thought you said he didn’t speak Westerosi.”

“He doesn’t. But he knows you’re refusing an order.” She tilted her head. “If you refuse again, I can have him escort you outside.”

Jaime stared up at the hulking bodyguard, who was two heads taller than him and at least twice as wide. After a second of tepid stare off, Jaime relented and reached into his jacket. He drew out his gun. Belwas tensed—as did Naharis, Jon noticed—until Jaime held out his fingers to show they were nowhere near the trigger. Gingerly, he set the weapon on the table. Brienne and Sam followed.

“Good,” Dany said with an approving nod. “Now, let’s get down to business.”


	16. That: Cold as Death

They stepped off the elevator into a barren, concrete hallway. It was freezing. Absolutely freezing. _I wonder if Hell Seven if a burning one or a freezing one_ , his mind said in a voice that sounded remarkably like Ramsay.

He’d never been particularly religious. His father had kept the Drowned God, but more out of bitterness than any real devotion. According to Uncle Aeron, who was a priest and would probably know these things, those who proved themselves in battle went to join the Drowned God’s Hall, so Theon knew that was never going to be a possibility for him. During his time in prison—the actual prison, before they’d taken him for Project Greenseer—a septon who came for a prayer group had told him that if he asked the Father for forgiveness and the Mother for mercy, he could be cleansed of his crimes. Turned out that was a lie too.

His limbs were trembling almost too hard for him to walk.

An eternity in hell. With Ramsay. If that’s what he deserved, fine. Who was he to argue with the Gods? But Jon. He’d never see Jon again. No way in hell was Jon going to hell. And it was beginning to look like he’d never see him again in this lifetime either.

He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes and tried to remember their last morning together. Had it just been yesterday? When they’d skipped breakfast for a round of sex. Jon was pretty vanilla in his tastes, but that was fine; Theon wasn’t much of a wildcat these days either. It had been slow, with Jon worshipping his body like it was fragile but not broken, like he was beautiful. He wondered if he’d still be able to remember the look of adoration on Jon’s face after the first hundred years or so of hell.

A strong hand grabbed him by the arms and lifted him up. He realized his knees had buckled and he’d slumped against the wall.

“Do you require assistance?” the nurse asked, a little more forcefully this time.

“No,” Theon mouthed, and when he pulled his hands away, he realized they were wet from tears. “No, there’s nothing you can do.”

“Dr. Maz Durr can help you,” the nurse replied. “We’re almost there. Can you walk on your own?”

He nodded and stood up on his own.

Their nurse may have been a robotic nutcase, but she wasn’t lying. Not more than twenty paces brought them to a heavy metal door that one of the orderlies had to open. A wave of cold air swept over them. Margaery shivered and hugged her sleeveless arms.

“Come in,” a voice called.

The orderly stepped back and smiled at them, an after-you-type gesture.

The nurse went in first. “Dr. Maz Durr, allow me introduce Margaery Tyrell, codename Wayfarer, and Theon Greyjoy, codename Ghost. I believe you have both of their files.”

“Bring them in,” a heavily accented voice called, and the orderlies obliged.

Dr. Maz Durr was a short woman, probably about Qyburn’s age, frizzy hair with more streaks of gray than black. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her stark white lab coat. Small-rimmed spectacles sat on her nose, and these she peered over as Theon and Margaery entered. Her eyes fixed on Theon and she smiled. A crooked, knowing sort of smile. A we’re-in-on-a-joke-they-aren’t sort of smile.

Her breath came out in steady clouds that condensed against the chill of the air. It was that cold in here. They were in the morgue Margaery had seen.

“You wonder why you are here,” Dr. Maz Durr said. Theon guessed her accent was mid-Essosian, possibly Dothraki or something similar. She spoke confidently, despite it. “You wonder if, maybe, are these people going to kill me. I will put to rest your minds. No.”

“Our bodies are of more use to you alive than in those drawers,” Margaery said, startling everyone there. Even Nurse Robo-Ratched. Margaery slowly lifted her head. “Are you going to tell us why we’re here?”

“No,” Maz Durr said. “I am going to show you.”

A hand emerged from her pocket with a syringe. Theon and Margaery recoiled. Maz Durr smiled.

“No, this is not for you. It is what we are making from your living bodies.” She depressed the plunger ever so slightly, and a thin, slightly yellow fluid dripped from the end of the needle. Carrying something like that around in your pocket couldn’t be proper medical procedure. But then again, kidnapping people and forcing invasive tests on them couldn’t be proper medical procedure either.

Theon subconsciously felt for the puncture on his back.

Maz Durr laughed. She had the most chilling laugh Theon had ever heard outside of Ramsay. “No, this is not yours,” she said. “This is from another patient.”

Another patient? He and Margaery weren’t the only psychics here? But who—oh God! Jon!

“Wh—”

“Quiet,” Maz Durr said. “Watch now, and learn.”

She turned and went to the wall of metal drawers. Seemed to be counting them, looking for one in particular. When she found the right one, she grabbed the handle and pulled the drawer out with a long, metallic hiss.

Margaery gasped in what had to be surprised horror. Theon only gasped in surprise.

Laid out on the table was Gregor, the guard. Or his body, at least. He really was the biggest man Theon had ever seen, and even in death he was frightening. He barely fit in the coffin-sized drawer. They really _had_ killed him.

Maz Durr caressed his face, which was frozen with a perpetual grimace. Touching a dead body without gloves—that couldn’t be proper medical procedure either. Or something a sane person would do. Not with a look of affection on their face. “Krazaaj.” She lifted the needle and with tender care inserted it into the man’s neck.

Theon felt something scrabbling at his side. He looked down to see Margaery grabbing for his hand. He grabbed back, twining their fingers and squeezing. She had a bad feeling about this too.

Maz Durr injected the contents of the syringe, pulled it free, and stepped back.

Nobody breathed.

Just as Theon began to understand what they were waiting for, Gregor’s eyes popped open.

Margaery’s grip became punishingly tight, and even the burly orderlies took several steps back.

Gregor stared up at the ceiling with milky-blue eyes. Then, slowly, the dead man sat up. Turned his head stiffly. And stared at _them_ with milky-blue eyes.

“What is this?” Margaery asked. Whatever drugs they had put into her, seeing a dead man sit up had sobered her pretty quickly.

“Dr. Maz Durr is a genius,” the unhelpful nurse explained, arms folded in front of her.

Gregor swung his legs over the side of the metal bed. And to every sane person’s horror, stood. The tray creaked under his weight. The white tarp they had used to cover him fell away, revealing he was completely naked underneath. And also that his fingers were blue, his nail beds black. His knees cracked as he stood to his full height. And stared down at them. And took a step forward.

“Shit,” one of the orderlies muttered. He took a cautious, curious step forward as well, craning his neck. “Is he…alive?”

Gregor didn’t respond.

“Shit,” he repeated. “Maz Durr, you really _are_ a g—”

Gregor reached out with one dead hand and grabbed the orderly by the throat. Surprise registered on the man’s face, but comprehension didn’t truly have time to set in before his neck was snapped. Gregor dropped his lifeless body. Margaery screamed. Gregor turned his gaze on her.

The remaining orderly drew his Taser and fired. The hooks sprang from the gun and hit Gregor square in the chest; it was hard to miss. The current probably wouldn’t have fazed the giant in life, and it certainly didn’t in death. He continued to advance on them with his permanent death’s grimace.

“Fuck!” the orderly screamed. “Maz Durr, control it!”

Gregor swiped him aside. He crashed against the wall so hard his skull cracked and painted the concrete with brain matter. Theon found himself screaming with Margaery that time. He’d been too numb before. Watching it all unfold like he wasn’t even in his body. In fact, that’s exactly what it felt like. Those times when some ghost had taken over and he was floating somewhere else.

Margaery was present, though. Thank God for Margaery. She grabbed his hand and pulled.

He staggered. His feet felt numb too.

The monster came at them.

Theon fell and landed against the wall. The wall was cold but something warm and wet trickled down his back.

“Theon!” Margaery tried to pull him to his feet.

 _Leave me_. He couldn’t talk. His tongue was numb.

She wouldn’t. She crouched down, even though the dead man was no more than five feet away. She held his face in her hands. Her hands were warm. Looked him in the eye. Her eyes were green. “Theon,” she said. Her voice was breathy. “Theon, wake up. We have to run.”

His mouth fell open to say something. But his jaw was numb too, so he sat there, staring at her, not seeing her, gaping like a braindead idiot.

The floor rattled as the dead man marched to them, and Theon could see his blue feet, black toenails. A guttural moan filled the room, but it was difficult to tell if it was coming from the dead man or Theon’s throat.

Margaery slapped his face. “Theon, please, we need to—”

The dead man reached for her. Fingers flexing stiffly.

She screamed.

Theon saw his body act on its own. It threw his hand out. “Stop!”

The thing did.

It stopped, fingers still twitching as it reached for Margaery. She hadn’t realized it yet, though, with her face buried in his chest. Theon hadn’t really realized it either. He only snapped back to himself when he heard Dr. Maz Durr’s maniacal laughter.


	17. This: Crow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was originally going to split this up into two chapters. Instead, enjoy this one extra long chapter.

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Would it matter if I’m not?”

Jon smiled at his own attempt to lighten the mood, but Dany maintained her dead serious expression. “You can always back out,” she said as Jon took a seat on the sofa. “If Jorah doesn’t see any trace of you, he’ll know to cancel the operation.”

Jon looked away from her, studied the fire in the fireplace. There was central heating in chalet, of course, but Jon suspected she preferred the fire; he preferred it too. It cast dancing shadows across everyone gathered in the living room.

His eyes landed on Sansa, looking very wane, dark circles forming under her eyes. _She’s counting on me. Theon and Margaery are counting on me_.

“I’m sure,” he said. “I’m not backing out.”

Dany smiled and Grey Worm came forward with a bird cage. Inside was the crow that would be serving as Jon’s body for the mission. It swung its head back and forth as it studied Jon, turning one golden eye towards him, then the other. The camera around its right talon was hardly noticeable, and only if you were looking for it. “Whenever you’re ready,” Dany said.

Missandei knelt at the coffee table in front of the sofa and unrolled a blueprint of the White & Walker facility. “You’ll enter here,” she said, pointing to the western wall. “Jorah will be waiting for you on the third floor.”

Jon nodded. “Jorah,” he began, “do you trust him?” The man had departed several hours earlier, their inside man at White & Walker. For all their enemy knew, he was still working for them. Or maybe he _was_ still working for them? Jon didn’t find himself inclined to trust a double-agent, no matter whose side they said they were on.

Missandei looked uncertainly to Dany.

Dany pressed her lips tightly together. “I do,” she said. “He’s made mistakes, but he’s willing to make up for them. And we need him.”

“Hmm,” Jon murmured.

“Once you’re in, you’ll want to make your way to the top floor,” Missandei said, tracing the blueprint with her finger, “either via the stairwell or the elevator.”

“How does a crow use an elevator?” Jaime asked.

“I could probably peck the buttons with my beak,” Jon said, returning Jaime’s sarcastic grin.

“However you do it, don’t get caught,” Dany said, bringing them both back to the present. “You’ll need to find Mr. Walker’s office and locate the files.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to just get into his computer?” Sam spoke up. “I’m getting better at using my powers, I swear.”

“One problem: the files we’re looking for aren’t kept on computers. Jorah says Mr. Walker is notorious for keeping all his important information under physical lock and key. Mr. Walker is paranoid—and with good reason.”

“Right, then,” Jon said. “Anything else I should know?”

“Find Margaery,” Sansa said, standing up abruptly. “And Theon too. If you can.”

“I will,” Jon said. “I’ll find where they’re keeping them, and we’ll get them back home. I promise.”

Sansa sat back down and Jon lay back on the sofa, clearing his mind in preparation for the jump.

Grey Worm had brought up the camera feed on his computer, labeled “crow’s eye view,” giving everyone a POV shot from the crow’s foot as it hopped around. “We’ll be monitoring you on this,” he said.

“And because you won’t be there physically,” Dany said, “you can abort any time.”

“I won’t abort,” Jon said. “I’m going to see this thing through.”

Her lips curled into a gentle smile. “Good luck, Jon.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I’m jumping…now.”

It was more difficult jumping into unfamiliar animals, and especially non-mammals. One second he was on the couch, and the next he was looking at his own body from behind bars. The sensation of having wings instead of arms, a beak instead of lips—it took him a moment to orient himself.

Dany’s face peered in at him. “Jon?”

He bobbed his head up and down. _It’s me_.

She undid the clasp on the birdcage and opened the door. Jon hopped out, flapping his wings experimentally. If he thought about it too hard, he’d never be able to get airborne. This was one of those things he’d have to let the animal instincts control.

“Somebody open the window,” Dany instructed.

Naharis jumped to do it. He threw open the window, letting in a blast of winter wind. The fire flickered and shadows danced. Jon flapped his wings and let the bird take over.

 

***

 

It took him an hour to fly to the facility. It was early morning and he flew straight into the sun. Eventually, he saw it. A big old field of concrete amidst the snow-covered trees. He dipped one wing and brought himself around, approaching from the west the way Missandei had shown him.

He alit on a tree outside the fence—there were no trees inside—and searched out the third floor. That’s when he saw it. A flash of movement from the third window in. The pane lifted up and Jorah Mormont peered out. Locked eyes with Jon. Jon looked back. Acknowledgement.

Jon fluttered in and landed on the sill. Jorah Mormont looked up and down the hall, then waved Jon in. “You’re him, aren’t you?”

Jon couldn’t very well reply.

“Gods, I’m talking to a bird.” Jorah ran a hand down the side of his face. Then, offering his shoulder, “Well…hop on. I’ll take you as far as I can.”

Which ended up being to the nearest stairwell. Still, Jon was grateful. There was no way he would be able to open the door in his current state.

“Mr. Walker has a meeting in a few minutes,” Jorah said as he pulled on the door handle.  “It’s unlikely that he’ll want it to go on for very long. You won’t have long to find what you’re looking for, so I suggest you not tarry.”

Jon bobbed his head to show his understanding—except the tarry part. Who used the word tarry?

He took off from Jorah’s shoulder. Flying inside was more difficult, since there was no updraft to take him higher. He pumped his wings harder to give himself the extra lift up the stairs. Top floor, Missandei had said, which meant he just had to keep going until there were no more stairs. When he got there, he alit on the railing.  And was met with his next obstacle.

There was a key card lock on the door. Shit!

He sat there, staring at the door, willing it to open for about five minutes. All the while aware that time was ticking away.

Just as he was about to circle back, the door opened, and a man in a charcoal business suit stepped out into the stairwell. In a flash, Jon swooped through the door right over the man’s head. The man didn’t seem to notice, because the door closed behind him without any startled noise at all.

The top floor contained clean, minimalist hallways, which made finding Mr. Walker’s office all the easier. The frosted-glass door was closed and locked—another key card—but this time Jon was able to get in with the help a loose ventilation shaft covering. Crawling through a heating vent while the heat was going at full blast…Jon wouldn’t recommend it.

Once inside, it took only a minute or two to find a file cabinet that wouldn’t open. Something worth keeping locked in there.

Okay, this would be the tricky part.

Jon used his beak to pull the long, thin bit of metal from where it was secured next to the camera on his talon.

Ygritte had been the one to teach him how to pick locks. _I wonder if she’s still watching me_ , he thought as he bent the metal just so and inserted it into the lock. _I wonder if she approves of me using her expertise like this_. She probably did. Anything to stick it to an authority figure. Jon worked the pick, and the lock clicked as the tumblers fell into place. _Doing Ygritte’s work_ , he thought with the bird equivalent of a smile.

He pulled the drawer open by grabbing the handle with his claws; it slid open easily now that it was unlocked. There were dozens of files inside, nestled in dozens of loose hanging folders. Jon started with the first, dragging it out with his beak and scattering the contents all over the desk and floor. Page by page, he swept over it with his little camera, making sure to get a clear picture of it for Dany’s people.

 Then he went on the next one.

There was no way he’d be able to clean this up afterwards. When Mr. Walker came back, the game would be up. If he was as paranoid as Dany suggested, he’d know what had happened. He’d know a spy had broken in. Jon only hoped it didn’t mean bad things for Theon or Margaery.

He worked his way through the files, more intent on making sure Dany got a solid picture than reading them himself. Still, certain words did seem to stand out to him: _augmentation_ , _biological_ _component, test subjects, rabies, dissemination_. Cryptic and ominous.

Perhaps he was too caught up in his task. Perhaps he was not accustomed to a bird’s senses. The beep of the key card lock was the only warning he had before the door swung open.

He squawked in surprise.

The lights turned on and the figure in the doorway chuckled.

Instinct, both human and bird, told Jon to hide. But then the more rational side remembered that he wasn’t in his own body. Even if anyone recognized him, what were they going to do to him? Nevertheless, he’d gotten what he could. The mission was done. Time to jump back.

He allowed the bird to slip away. The familiar sensation of jumping out enveloped him.

Followed by the unfamiliar sensation of jumping straight back _in_.

He opened his eyes to find he was still in the crow’s body. That…had never happened before.

He tried again, to the same results. He could float away for just a little bit, but when he tried to find his own body, he just snapped right back. What was happening? Was he too far away from his body? Had he been in the crow too long?

The figure at the doorway continued to chuckle. Then strode in, thick soles clicking sharply along the floor. Jon looked up into a face he recognized. A face with mismatched eyes that seemed to drill straight into him, to see past the feathers into the human beneath.

“Hello, Jon Snow,” said Euron Greyjoy.

Jon’s bird heart stopped.

“You’re surprised,” Euron said, cocking his head as he came closer. “Or, at least, I _think_ you’re surprised. You _look_ surprised for a bird.”

Jon was silently panicking. In a few moments, Mr. Walker’s desk might very well be covered in bird shit.

“A friend of mine told me you were coming. I asked that he keep you around for a while. I’ve been dying to meet you, after all.” He sat on the edge of the desk. “Now, Jon Snow, to what do I owe this pleasure? Looking for something, maybe? Or someone? My nephew, perhaps?”

Jon cawed angrily.

Euron chuckled. “I can take you to him, you know. But I want you to do something for me, first. You see, I want to see your handsome face in person. So if you agree to come back, with your actual body this time, I’ll take you to our dear Theon. How does that sound?”

Jon pecked at the hand closest to him. Euron drew his hand back with a pained wince, then held his bloody hand up to see. And laughed. Laughed as blood dribbled from the wound and pooled on the desk.

The man was clearly unhinged. Jon wasn’t interested in anything he had to offer.

He tried to jump again. And again he was pulled back.

Panicked, he spread his wings and took flight. Aiming for the open door. Euron’s laughter followed him into the hall.

His mind was not his own. He was a bird, fleeing from a predator.

_Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, nowhere to fly, nowhere…_

_There. Sky. Outside. Fly, fly, fly._

His heart swelled. If he could make it to the sky, the blue…

Pain.

He didn’t know what…he’d hit something. But the sky, it was there and…

Now he was falling.

He fell. He landed on the ground. Spasming. Wings jerking uselessly. Neck broken, snapped.

He was oddly aware of the rising and falling of his chest. And the laughter of a predator far away.

Jon breathed his last breath in terror. And then died.

 

***

 

He didn’t know who he was or where he was. He thought he might be a human or a crow. It was hard to tell. It was so dark and he couldn’t feel his body at all.

There was something tugging on him. With a lot of effort, but not a lot of strength. “Not supposed to let you go.”

Whose voice was that?

“Supposed to keep you here.”

The tugging became weaker as Jon drifted away.

“He’ll punish me!”

He slipped back into the darkness.

 

***

 

Jon came back to himself gasping. He bolted upright and threw a hand around his neck. He’d never been killed while in an animal’s body before. The sensation of it lingered like a particularly disturbing nightmare. He didn’t immediately react when Dany knelt down beside him and asked, “Jon, are you alright? We saw the video feed and—”

“Give him a minute,” Sam’s voice said. “He’s disoriented.”

More than that. He’d _died_. That wasn’t something you recovered from so quickly.

“Did you learn anything from the files?”

“We got a lot of information,” Grey Worm said from his computer. “You did exceptional work.”

“It will take time to go through everything,” Missandei said, “but so far our worst suspicions have been confirmed.”

Jon’s throat constricted. “And those are…?”

Missandei looked to Dany.

“The reason your friends were taken…they’re the main component in Mirri Maz Durr’s resurrection procedure. She’s using psychic cerebro-spinal fluid—augmented with…something—to reanimate corpses. We suspected, but…”

“You _suspected_?” Jon hissed. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Dany was silent a moment. “I knew they might be monitoring you, but I never imagined they would try anything like this. I should have put security on you and your boyfriend. But you were so hesitant to take my offer, and I didn’t want to drag you into this mess unwillingly.” She sighed. “I didn’t realize you had already been dragged in, regardless.”

Jon buried his face in his hands. Otherwise he was going to scream.

“It’s my fault,” Dany said. Her voice sounded so far away. “I was more concerned about _who_ they were reanimating. I thought that perhaps it was a misguided attempt to achieve immortality, but the files you got for us indicate that the results of Dr. Maz Durr’s procedure are unchanged.”

Jon lifted his head. “You said that when they brought your husband back to life, he was an abomination.”

“An animated husk,” she said. “Just a…an empty shell.”

“Why?” Sansa asked. Her knuckles went white as she clenched her fists in her lap. “Why would you want to resurrect anybody if they’re just going to be like…like a zombie?”

“ _That_ is what is going to take some time to figure out,” Grey Worm said. “Could be any number of reasons. Cheap labor. Expendable soldiers. We will have to see who White  & Walker has funding this project.”

“Euron Greyjoy.” Jon lifted his face out of his hands. “He was _there_.”

The room grew silent as everyone looked at each other, but conspicuously not at him.

Jon sat up straight. “What?”

“We know,” Dany said hesitantly. “We saw it on your camera feed.”

The camera feed! When he’d jumped from the crow, he’d completely forgotten. “Play it back.” He stood. “There might be something we can use. Play it back.”

Grey Worm looked uncertainly from his computer monitor to his boss.

“There’s nothing to see,” Missandei said quickly. “It stopped recording after your encounter with—”

Dany cut her off. “I know you’re trying to be kind, Missandei, but there’s no sense in lying to him.” She nodded to Grey Worm. “Play it back. He needs to know.”

Jon stumbled to the computer and used the back of Grey Worm’s chair to steady himself. No one spoke as Grey Worm pulled up the video feed and began playing it back.

The angle was lower than the crow’s eyes, obviously, but it still felt like being back there. Even bracing himself, Jon felt the same jolt of terror when the door slammed open and Euron appeared. It felt like getting caught all over again. “Hello, Jon Snow.”

He ran through his monologue, and Jon found he was more easily able to focus on the words when he wasn’t in immediate terror of his life. “A friend of mine told me you were coming.” What did that mean? Had they been betrayed? He glanced over at Dany, who seemed to be thinking the same thing: Jorah. Her face was grim and she grimaced when Euron mentioned a “friend.”

“Now, Jon Snow,” the video went on, “to what do I owe this pleasure? Looking for something, maybe? Or someone? My nephew, perhaps?”

Jon heard his own angry caw in response.

Watched himself peck at Euron’s hand, and Euron’s insane laughter in response. The video became dizzying as Jon took off in flight. Out into the hallway, towards the window. Felt the phantom snapping of his neck again as the camera collided with the glass, relived the agonized confusion of his last few seconds.

He couldn’t place the exact moment he’d died, but a few seconds later, the sound of footsteps off camera told him of someone’s approach. A shoe flipped the bird’s lifeless body over. Then the camera was being wrestled off its talon, and Euron’s face appeared, filling up the entire screen.

“My offer still stands, Jon Snow. But just to let you know I’m a man of my word, why don’t I give you a small glimpse of how my dear nephew is doing.” He smiled. “Let’s go take a look, shall we?”


	18. That: Uncle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is...a bit dark. There are definite sexual overtures to Euron's taunting of both Jon and Theon, so mind the new warnings.

Theon’s world erupted into light. His eyes popped open to see someone had turned on the overhead lights, which were fluorescent and loud but surprisingly free of bugs. He lay there for a moment, trying to remember where he was and why.

“Wakey, wakey.”

Theon’s eyes rolled in his head, to the shape of Uncle Euron silhouetted in the doorway.

Something beeped loudly. Theon jumped at the sound. As he moved, he felt the masses of wire curling around his body. In an instant, he was out of bed, tearing the wires out. Unhooking the oxygen and blood pressure monitors. The machine made a terrible noise as his heart rate flat-lined.

Strong hands gripped his shoulder, and he fought against that. _No, no, don’t touch me_.

“Calm down, nephew. Let me help you out there.” A hand slid up his shirt—hospital gown—over his ribs and pulled one of the wires loose. “You’re getting yourself all tangled up, silly boy.” The hand rose up his side, hard and callused, until it found the node on his chest and pulled that loose as well. “Always getting yourself into trouble, little Theon.”

Theon lashed out at him—Uncle Euron, who had terrified him as a child and who his mother had always told him not to be alone in the same room with. His blows earned him a chuckle. To his surprise, Euron let him go. Fast enough that Theon reeled until he lost his balance.

He collapsed on the floor, trembling.

Then Euron was kneeling down to be on his level. Staring at him with those oddly colored eyes. He remembered how it had especially scared him as a child, that one pale eye. “Now, look, I need you to calm down,” Euron said in a faraway voice. “If you keep hyperventilating, you’re going to pass out again. And then the doctors will have to hook you back up. Is that what you want?”

Theon shook his head. He couldn’t go back in the hospital bed. He couldn’t have all those wire on him and in him. He couldn’t be unconscious while they… _did_ things to him.

“Good.” Euron patted his face. “I know you can do it, lad.”

_Deep breaths_ , he thought, _just like Dr. Satin said. Don’t hold it too long_.

He took a breath in and a breath out.

_You cannot panic. You cannot lose control of yourself like that, not around this man_.

As he breathed, he took a moment to assess himself. He would find out what they’d done to his body eventually. And though the thought of knowing made breathing even more difficult, it was better to know what he was dealing with.

So…

His back hurt. His head hurt. His shoulder hurt. He placed these hurts in order—spinal tap, side effect of spinal tap, dislocated shoulder. No other needle pricks or rope burns or broken bones or…or pain from…

There were a few bruises on his arm from when the orderly had dislocated it. The same orderly who had so recently had his _throat_ dislocated.

Theon remembered that. Gregor coming back to life. Killing both the orderlies. Then coming for him and Margaery. He’d thrown his hand out, knowing it wouldn’t do any good against an eight-foot monster. And then…Dr. Maz Durr laughing? He couldn’t really remember.

“Good, good.” Euron patted his cheek again. “Do you think you can stand? Here, let me help you up.”

Theon flinched away from him violently.

Euron grabbed his chin roughly and lifted it. Forced Theon to look into his eyes. “Let me help you up, nephew.”

Theon went lax. His body shuddered in fight or flight mode, but he couldn’t seem to act either way. He remained perfectly still and allowed Euron to lift him to his feet.

“Your clothes are over there.” Still looking him in the eye. “Get dressed.”

Theon found the neatly folded pile on the floor. Without hesitation, he undid the ties on the back of his hospital gown and stepped out of it. Euron watched as he dressed himself. It made his skin slither to have those mismatched eyes on him, unflinching, but some compulsion forced him to keep going. At least he found out, when he pulled his shirt on, that although his shoulder was still in a great deal of pain, someone had bothered to pop it back into place.

He did the last button, and Euron nodded in approval. “Good. Now follow me and don’t make a scene.”

When Euron walked out the door, Theon had a compulsion to follow and not make a scene.

His feet were bare—no shoes or socks in the clothing pile—but the tile wasn’t as cold as concrete. The checkered tiles and sickly green walls meant he was back on the floor above the morgue. “Where’s Margaery?”

“She’s fine.”

“But where is she?”

Euron sighed. “She’s in a holding cell. It’s quite comfortable. Beats a prison cell.”

He came to the elevator and hit the up button. Then stepped back, swinging his arms idly as he waited for their floor number to light up. Theon itched at the back of his head. He’d done it so often, he was surprised to find, not the plastic nub of the inhibitor, but a wad of gauze. So, somebody had bothered to treat that as well. The elevator dinged. The doors slid open. Euron stepped in and Theon followed, obediently.

“Are you really getting in an elevator with Uncle Molesto?”

Theon’s head spun in the direction of Ramsay’s voice.

“This guy is a sick fuck,” Ramsay said, watching them from the corner of the elevator. “You should see what he does to the employees who threaten to talk. And people really think all the biohazard waste they dispose of is…what, lab rats and shit?”

The doors closed.

“It’s pretty closed-in in here.”

Theon looked away and tried to ignore him.

“Is there somebody in the elevator with us?”

Theon didn’t want to meet Euron’s eyes, lest he tell him to do something else, so he just nodded at the ground.

“Who?”

“Nobody you’d know.”

“Oh,” Ramsay said, “I wouldn’t get cheeky with him. Last guy who got smart with him…yeah, he cut that guy’s tongue out.”

“Ah,” Euron said, loud enough to nearly drown Ramsay out. “Ramsay Bolton?”

“Snow.”

“Snow, right. I forget these archaic naming traditions sometimes.”

Theon was quiet. Ramsay had not been a Snow by choice. Jon was.

“I read the police report,” Euron continued, leaning far too close into Theon’s space. “The bodies they discovered on the property where he was keeping you. It seems you were far from his first victim, though he went to extraordinary lengths when it came to you.”

Theon tried to move away, but there was nowhere to move. Euron had him practically hemmed into the corner.

“Tell me, nephew, what did he do to you?”

A hand brushed through his hair.

“Did he hurt you?”

The hand played with his hair, twirled a few strands between its fingertips.

“Did he beat you?”

The hand trailed down his temple, to his cheek, and remained there, cradling him. Theon closed his eyes.

“Did he hold you down?”

He was so close that Theon could feel his uncle’s breath on his face, could smell the acrid sweetness of it.

“Did he _fuck_ you?”

“Please…” The whimper that escaped Theon’s lips was a pathetic creature that died before it even reached Euron’s ears. But he knew. From the wicked grin on his face, he knew.

He took a step back and let Theon go. “This is our floor.”

The elevator stopped abruptly. Theon lost his footing and stumbled forward. Euron steadied him. Then quickly pushed him forward as the doors opened on yet another hallway. More hallways, more levels—this whole facility was just the seven levels of hell brought to life.

Euron ushered him to a doorway made of white weirwood. It bore the name “Jon Walker” on it. Theon had no idea who that was, but he supposed he was about to find out. Euron slid his ID card through the key lock, and a green light invited them in. He held the door open and gestured with his hand. “After you.”

Theon stood frozen.

“Go inside,” Euron said.

Theon went. Like a horror movie where the genre-wise audience yells at the protagonist not to go into the dark room or the basement, so did Theon’s mind yell. And like in a movie, he seemed to be watching himself from somewhere else.

A strange sight greeted him inside.

It was an office. A very swanky office, with chic, minimalist furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on a vast, barren, snowy landscape. Papers lay scattered about everywhere, as if a storm had blown through. And sitting on the desk was a young woman in a designer dress suit—though the blazer showed a little too much cleavage to be entirely professional. She sat with her legs crossed as she watched him. “This is your nephew, Euri?” She hopped down and circled around him. “Cute, in a kicked puppy-dog sort of way, I guess.”

“Theon.” Euron put a hand on Theon’s shoulder and steered him towards the woman. “This is my associate, Falia Flowers. She’s the head of research and development, and she’s been dying to meet you.”

Theon looked to his uncle in confusion. Head of research and development? She looked younger than _him_. Was this some sort of joke?

He wasn’t expecting her to lash out and grip him tightly by the hair. “It’s very rude to ignore someone you’ve just been introduced to,” she said, physically pulling his attention back to her. “You could at least say, ‘Nice to meet you.’”

“N-nice to meet you,” Theon stammered out.

She released him with a disgusted grunt. “You promised me some fun, Euri. So, can we start or what?”

“Patience, Falia, patience.” Euron crossed the room and fiddled with something on the desk. A little black box, barely bigger than a fingernail. “You will get your chance.” He bent down and looked into the little object, tapped it a few times, then stood and came back. He placed a hand on Theon’s face. It was impossibly cold. “You look so scared, nephew. There’s no reason to be scared. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Theon didn’t believe him for one minute. But he was still taken unaware when the back of Euron’s hand struck him across the face.

He stumbled and would have fallen if Euron hadn’t grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him back. Then used the collar to steer him against the desk. “Wha…what are you—?”

Euron slapped him again. It sent his head, already precarious from the spinal tap, reeling. By the time he reoriented himself, he was bent over the desk, with hands working to undo the button on his pants.

“Break a lot hearts, did you, little Theon? Before all of this, I mean. You’re certainly a handsome enough boy. I bet you did. I bet you only had to smile to get your way.”

Theon clawed against the desk, against his captor. “Please, please, don’t—”

“But,” Euron interrupted, “that was back then, wasn’t it? I’ve seen you, nephew.” He yanked Theon’s pants down his hips. “Every inch of you. Whatever you had to brag about before…you can’t very well brag about it now.”

Theon sobbed. “Please.”

“Withered. Ugly.” A cold hand ran down the length of his spine. “Unfuckable, really.”

Theon pressed his cheek against the wood of the desk. “Why are you doing this?”

“One wonders how you managed to lure that pretty little thing into your bed.”

Theon went rigidly still.

“Oh, yes, you know who I mean. _Jon_ Snow. My, you do have a proclivity for orphans, don’t you?” Euron leaned over him, pressing into him with his weight, and whispered in his ear. “Not that I blame you with this one. He’s very pretty. I don’t mind admitting it. In fact, if I were a bit younger and inclined that way…”

“No.” Theon tried to buck him off, but Euron grabbed him by the nape of the neck and pinned him down against the desk. “No, you can’t…don’t touch him!”

Euron laughed. “Well, that hit a button, didn’t it? Was beginning to think you didn’t have any balls.” He held Theon in place easily. “We had a little chat just a while ago, me and your, ahem, man.”

Theon stopped struggling and held still. Breathing heavily.

“An admittedly one-sided chat,” Euron amended. “Seems he’s at least aware of your predicament. He’ll be coming for you soon, I wager. Which is good because it spares me the trouble of picking up after my idiot brother. You give a man one simple task, Theon. One. Simple. Task.” He sighed and let Theon go. Just…stepped back and let him up.

Theon didn’t know what his game was, but he took advantage of it and quickly pulled his pants up.

The woman named Falia giggled into her cupped hands.

Euron laughed. “Don’t act so spooked. If I’d wanted to take you, I could do it quite easily.” He tapped his temple, the side of his face where his pale eye was. “I’d get you to come to me, willingly. If I wanted someone to fight me, I’d choose someone who could actually put up a fight. Like your Jon Snow.”

Theon glowered at him. Channeled all of his hatred. “You won’t ever get the chance to touch him,” he hissed. “You’re right. He’ll come for me alright. He’ll come as a wolf. He’ll tear your fucking throat out, just like he did to Ramsay.”

“Maybe he will.” Euron grinned. “Then maybe we’ll get to spend more time together, you and me.” He pointed to Theon’s temple. “In here.”


	19. This

The video feed ended when Euron dropped the camera on the floor and smashed it with his shoe. The last image was on Theon, curled up on the floor and glaring defiantly at his uncle. Then everything went dark. And silent.

For a long minute, nobody moved. Nobody made a sound.

Jon knew everyone was waiting for him to react.

So he did.

He stepped away from the computer, stumbling backwards as he did.

He’d barely gotten two steps before his knees buckled and he fell. Still a bit weak from the whole _dying_ thing.

Jaime and Brienne helped him up.

Jon shrugged them off. He’d changed his mind; the fire wasn’t nice. It was too hot. It was too hot in here. He needed to get out. Needed some fresh air to clear his mind.

He lurched to the door. Naharis made to stop him, but backed away when Jon snarled at him. “Let him go,” Dany instructed, and Naharis stepped back. Jon continued for the door unimpeded.

A storm was in full effect as he stepped out onto the neatly shoveled chalet walkway. The wind felt good against his sweat-slicked skin. He left the beaten trail for a nearby copse of trees. He’d forgotten his cane, but fuck it. He was tired of it, tired of needing it because of what Ramsay had done to him.

He fell. More than once. The last time, he ended up on his hands and knees, nearly buried in snow. Try as he might, there was no energy left in him to get up. To crawl his way out. And since he’d always been such an expert in feeling sorry for himself, he lay down right there, curled in on himself. Waited.

_I can’t die here_ , he knew. _Theon needs me and I can’t leave him_. But he just couldn’t find the _energy_ to get up.

Something wet and cold brushed the base of his spine, under his shirt. That shocked some energy into him. He bolted up to see Ghost staring at him, head cocked.

Jon sighed and rubbed his head. His fingers were ungloved—he hadn’t even bothered with a jacket—and were already beginning to turn blue. Yeah, he should probably get inside.

“I don’t know what Euron’s big picture is,” he said to Ghost, who, despite understanding him better than most people did, couldn’t really understand what he was saying. “But I do know something he wants.” He flexed his numb hands. “I wonder if he’s willing to make a trade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Part I. I have no idea when Part II will be up, but I'll try not to keep you waiting too long. Right now I'm in the middle of writing the (hopefully) thrilling climax. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and hope to see you again soon,  
> VW


	20. Now: Lioness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting the finishing touches on the final chapters, so I'm going ahead and posting again.

_This isn’t going to end well_ , Theon thought, then realized he’d said that out loud when the other two turned to look at him.

“Oh, did you suddenly acquire precognition?” Jaime said with about as much facetiousness as a single human could muster. He paused to consider that. “You didn’t, did you? Because you have to tell me if you did.”

Brienne sighed. “I agree with him, Jaime. I don’t think you should go. What if she reacts…badly?”

“You mean what if she puts a half dozen pipes through my chest?”

“It’s a distinct possibility, yes.” She turned to Theon. “I know we agreed on the plan, but I think _you_ should approach her. Psychic to psychic.”

Theon looked at the dirt. At present, the three of them were crouched behind some bushes, waiting for their target to exit the posh restaurant she’d entered little over an hour ago. It was far from dignified, but necessary. Both Jaime and Brienne had been there when they’d broken her free. They, all three of them, knew just what Cersei Lannister could do with her mind.

He took a deep breath. What did he have to lose? His life? Not especially important. He didn’t know if he was more afraid of life or death these days. This mission? The decision was quickly being made for him as the bell over the restaurant’s door chimed and a woman in a red coat stepped out, looked up and down the street, and slid a pair of sunglasses over her eyes.

Jaime rose, but Theon stood faster. “I’ll do it,” he said.

Jaime wanted to protest. Theon could see it on his face. So could Brienne, apparently, because she grabbed her partner by the shoulder and forced him back into a crouch. Jaime relented and Brienne gave Theon a nod. “Go.”

Cersei began walking down the street, her stilettos clicking on the pavement. Winter had hardly begun here. Give it a month or two and nobody in their right mind would be wearing high heels outside.

That was, assuming Cersei _was_ in her right mind.

She had dyed her hair black, tied it into a severe ponytail, but there was no disguising the signature look of contempt she wore. Sure, this tourist town on the border of Dorne was remote and secluded, but Theon still didn’t see how she’d managed to stay hidden for so long.

He followed behind her several paces, matching his footsteps to hers. She had to be a paranoid woman or she wouldn’t have gone undetected for so long. And sure enough, he could tell the exact moment she became aware of his presence. Her chin went up, her shoulders went rigid.

She stopped, so Theon stopped too.

She began to walk, and Theon followed.

She turned down an alleyway, full of dumpster bins and cats rummaging around in dumpster bins. Except for the cats, there was no one else. She walked another half dozen steps then stopped again. Without turning her head, she said, “If you’re some random street creeper, then I’m afraid you’ve chosen the wrong person to stalk. If you _do_ know who I am, then I’ll give you three seconds to tell me who sent you.”

She turned and pulled off her sunglasses, revealing green eyes. Green eyes that widened in recognition as she took him in. Like her, his hair had become darker since they’d last met, but she knew him.

“You,” she breathed. “You were the one who…” Her hand went to the back of her neck, where her inhibitor had been. They’d installed it to keep her under control.

“I’m here to help you.”

Her face contorted. “I don’t _need_ your help.”

She made to leave, and Theon made to block her leaving. “You _do_ need our help, you just don’t know it yet. And we need yours.”

She snarled at him, just a glimpse of that feral woman he’d freed from the prison cell. “Who sent you?”

“No one. Myself. Look.” He sighed in frustration. This… _talking_ to people…it wasn’t his strong suit. He shouldn’t have volunteered to come on this mission. “A friend of mine went through an awful lot of pain to find you. Actual, physical pain.” He’d done such an awful job of trying to comfort Sansa afterwards, shaking too badly to be of any use. Just…seeing her in the chair, hearing her scream, remembering when it had been him… “I’m not leaving until you’ve heard me out.”

She scoffed. She sounded so very much like Jaime when she scoffed.

Then she raised her hand and Theon slammed into the brick wall.

She could have killed him if she wanted.

He was lucky to only have only a few scratches and bruises.

The message was clear: _Leave me alone_.

That was not going to happen.

She walked past him as he struggled his pushed himself off the wall. “ _They’re_ looking for you!” he called. “If _we_ could find you, so can _they_.”

Her attack came quickly. He only registered the motion of her hand, and then he was being pulled off his feet again. An invisible hand wrapped around his throat. His entire field of vision became her green eyes, glaring at him. “You led them right to me, you traitor?”

Traitor? Yes, that was right. He was a traitor and a coward. He deserved this.

_Jon_.

“Cersei, stop!”

The hand didn’t loosen, but the eyes were gone.

“J…Jaime? H-how…?”

“Put him down, Cersei. You’re going to kill him.”

The ground slammed up to meet him. Probably would have knocked the wind out of him if he’d had any breath. He rolled over and choked on air, breathing heavily.

A hand—physical—landed on his back. “Are you alright?” Brienne. She stroked gentle circles on his back as he coughed. “Theon! Theon, answer me. _Are you alright_?”

“Fine,” he croaked.

She breathed in relief.

“I looked for you everywhere.” They both turned to see Jaime holding Cersei in a bear hug. Their faces were far too close. “Gods, I’ve missed you.” He brought their lips together.

The hand on Theon’s back clenched into a fist, and Theon glanced up to see a look of barely contained disgust on Brienne’s face. Though he was willing to wager it wasn’t entirely due to the incest.

Cersei returned the kiss for a moment, seemed to deepen it even, but then pulled away. Pushed him back. Shook her head. “You left me. You abandoned me.”

“No, no, Cersei.” Jaime tried to pull her back in, but a telekinetic who did not want to be touched would not be touched. He skidded back several feet. “I thought you were dead. When I found out that you were alive, when I found out what they’d been doing to you, I came for you, Cersei. I was there. I came for you.”

She continued to shake her head. “Not that. Before. The trial.”

“The trial? You mean…?”

Theon was only vaguely aware of Cersei’s life pre-Project Greenseer. She’d been a senator. She’d been charged with conspiracy and corruption. She’d been found guilty and sent to prison. Where she’d ended up a test subject.

“You abandoned me,” she spat. “When I needed you the most, you abandoned me!”

“Gods, Cersei, I was halfway around the world. I tried to get back in time, honest to Gods. You know I would have been there if I could.”

She continued to shake her head wildly. “You were with _him_. You were seeing _him_. That vicious little monster. You’ll _always_ choose him over me. Over _our children_.”

Jaime stared in open-mouthed shock. “Is that what you think?”

“You defended him, Jaime, when he killed our son. Our son!” She buried her face in her hands. Her voice barely a whisper. “ _My little boy_.”

“Cersei, Tyrion didn’t—”

“Don’t say his name!” In a flash, she _became_ anger, rage. Her hair whipped about her; there was no wind. The dumpster creaked forward on rusty wheels, scattering cats. Several loose bricks flew from the wall.

Everyone tensed.

But just as quickly as it had come, it passed. The bricks fell to the ground, and so did Cersei. Sobbing.

Jaime rushed in to hold her, and this time she didn’t push him away, just allowed him to cradle her against his shoulder.

“They took everything,” she sobbed, clutching at his shirt. “Everything I had, everything I ever cared about. How can I…?” Her voice cracked with a hiccup.

“How can you go on?” Theon finished for her.

She lifted her head, just enough for her green eyes to peer at him over Jaime’s shoulder.

Theon staggered to his feet. His throat was still raw from her chokehold, but he’d had worse. Remembered stronger, very real hands crushing harder. He took a few steps and sank to his knees in front of her. She watched warily.

“I know,” he said, the same words he’d said back in the government facility, when he’d freed her. “I know. They _take_ and _take_ , and just when you think there’s nothing they _haven’t_ taken, nothing they haven’t _touched_ ….”

“They take,” Cersei agreed with a long, weary release of breath. “Everything.”

“Not everything.” Theon leveled his eyes meaningfully on Jaime.

He wanted to tell her how lucky she was, just to have this person, this one person who would hold her and kiss her and follow her into the darkness. He’d had that once. He’d had that one person.

He pushed those thoughts away. “We need your help,” he said instead. “The ones who did this to you…we’re going to stop them. We’re done letting them take. We’re going to fight back.”

She was silent for a long time. Not looking at him or Jaime or anything in particular.

“Yes.” Her talon-like nails sank into the fabric of Jaime’s shirt so hard that he winced. “I want them to hurt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to where it all began, flashbacks and flash-forwards. What happened to Jon? Check back tomorrow.


	21. Then: Reunited

On the second or third day of his captivity—he could only guess based on the number of (uneaten) meals they’d brought him—Euron came for him again. Dragged him out of bed in what might have been the middle of the night and pressed him up against the wall until Theon was looking him in the eye.

“I know you want to be a good boy for me, Theon.” His pale eye flashed. “You’re going to come with me just like you did the other day. We won’t have to call any guards, will we?”

“No,” Theon replied. No matter how hard he tried, how loud he screamed at himself, he couldn’t avert his eyes.

“Call me ser.”

“Yes, ser.”

Euron flashed a toothy grin. “Good. Now, follow me.”

They didn’t go the way they had before, turning left down the hall instead of towards the elevator. It was a short walk, only about a hundred feet. Euron opened a door into an interrogation cell, much like the one Theon had first woken up in. This might even be the exact room, he couldn’t be sure. Nor did he particularly care, because as soon as the door was opened wide enough, his gaze latched onto the figure seated at the stainless steel table, dark curls standing out against the overwhelming _whiteness_ of the room.

“Theon!”

“Jon!”

Theon broke from his uncle’s side. Jon ran to meet him. They met halfway across the room. Jon tried to embrace him, but his handcuffs got in the way. Instead, Theon wrapped his arms around Jon’s neck and drew him in, burying his face in Jon’s hair.

“What are you doing here?” The initial joy at being reunited faded as he drew back, holding Jon’s face in his hands. “How did they get you?”

“I turned myself in.”

Theon stared at him for a moment, waiting for Jon to crack a grin and say it was a joke. A terrible, unfunny joke, but better than the alternative.

“Why?” Anger flared. “Why would you do that? Don’t you know who these people are?”

Jon leaned into his touch. “I know,” he whispered, looking over Theon’s shoulder to Euron, who stood in the doorway like a gatekeeper. “Believe me, I know.”

“Then why—?”

“Because I’m not going to let them do that to you.”

“What a touching reunion.” They both turned as Euron lurched into the room like a drunk. “I’m happy for you boys, I really am.”

Jon pulled out of Theon’s grasp and placed himself in Euron’s path.

“Oh, see, that’s cute. What do you think you’re going to do, exactly, Jon Snow?”

“Whatever I can. You wanted me? Here I am. There’s no reason to hurt Theon anymore. You can let him go.”

“And why should I do that?” Euron spread his arms wide. “I’ve got both of you. Granted, it will take some time for my nephew to recover to the point where we can harvest him again, whereas I can use you right away. But that’s really more reason to keep him, don’t you think? Until he becomes useful again.”

Jon snarled, and Theon grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t.”

“I am curious though.” Euron ignored Theon. “How did you find me? Who has been helping you? That little camera…from one of your police friends, maybe?”

What little camera?

“Nobody helped me,” Jon said, curling his lip. “You really are just that obvious. And the camera…I stole it.”

Euron lunged forward and grabbed Jon by the throat, pushing him up against the one-way mirror. The whole of it shook as Euron pressed in.

Theon didn’t think about how frightened he was or how little good it would do; he threw himself at his uncle. Jumped on his back and slammed his fist into the back of Euron’s head with as much strength as he could muster. “Don’t touch him!”

Even at his peak strength, before Ramsay and Project Greenseer, he wouldn’t have been able to beat his uncle in a fair match. But he’d always been wiry as a kid, and something of a scrapper. Accused of fighting dirty on more than one occasion. He bit Euron’s neck until he tasted blood.

Euron grunted and bucked him off. Then threw a hand over the chunk of flesh Theon had taken out of him. “First him,” he said, nodding to Jon, who was choking and kicking out as best he could, “then you?” He threw his head back and laughed. “You savages deserve each other.”

Theon spat out the bit of foul-tasting flesh and got back to his feet. His teeth and jaw ached, but he just wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and tried again. He had so many more dirty tricks up his sleeve.

As he came forward, Euron turned his head.

Their eyes locked.

“Sit down.”

Theon froze. Then lowered himself to the ground.

“Scoot yourself into the corner and stay there,” Euron said. “The adults are trying to talk.”

Theon slid himself along the floor until he was in the corner, like a child in time out. _Get up. You have to get up_.

“What did you—?”

Jon’s bewildered question was silenced by Euron’s sinuous, “Shhh.”

Jon fell silent, only emitting little choking noises as Euron’s other hand went back to his throat.

“Good, that’s very good. You’re going to answer all my questions truthfully, aren’t you? Now, tell me who you’re working with.”

There was a beat as Jon tried to fight the command. He couldn’t though. Not when Euron was forcing him to look into his eyes.

“Daenerys Drogo,” he answered, if not a bit scratchily.

Theon couldn’t see his uncle’s face, but he could hear the smirk in his voice. “I should have guessed. It was only a matter of time until she rooted out the mole I put in her camp.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Took the dumb cunt long enough. And now, instead of coming here herself, she sends you as an errand boy.”

Jon gagged. Theon wished he’d bitten his uncle’s throat out.

“How much does she know?”

“She knows that you hired Dr. Mirri Maz Durr to bring the dead back to life. She knows you’ve been bringing doctors from Project Greenseer on to assist. She knows you’ve been spying on the subjects of Project Greenseer.”

Euron didn’t respond for a few moments. “That’s it?”

Jon didn’t answer.

“Why don’t you tell me what _you_ know?”

“I know you’re a sick fuck. I know you’re using Theon and the other psychics to bring those monsters in your basement to life.”

Euron released him. Jon fell against the mirror, a hand around his throat as he coughed and hacked.

 “You’re right. I am a sick fuck.” Euron delivered a swift kick to Jon’s stomach that had him doubled over.

“Jon!”

“Quiet,” Euron snapped, blue eye flaring.

Theon closed his mouth.

“Why are you doing any of this?” Jon growled. “What do you want?”

Euron knelt down and gripped Jon by the hair. “I’m not into monologueing. I don’t need to explain myself to you or anyone. But, since you so kindly came to me of your own will…” He pulled Jon’s head back, baring this throat. “I suppose I could give you an explanation. One simple enough for even you to understand.”

He leaned in very close.

“You see, I’m going to burn this world, and everything in it, down to the ashes. And what’s left…”

A blue-stained tongue flicked out from between his lips, lapping against Jon’s face. Theon watched helplessly as Jon shuddered in revulsion and tried to pull away, only for Euron to hold him even tighter.

“Well, that’s when the fun begins.”


	22. Now: Spider and the Kraken's Daughter

“You’re back early. I hope that’s a good sign.”

Theon looked up from the sink. He could see Asha in the mirror, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded over her chest. She tried so hard to appear casual, but he knew she’d been worrying about him.

“Everything went fine,” Theon said, reaching for a towel. “Cersei’s agreed to help us. She’s a loose cannon and wants us to point her at the right thing to shoot.”

“I know the feeling.” She shifted the weight of her hips. “Your face is a mess.”

He dried himself off. No blood. Just a few bruises where Cersei had slammed him into the bricks. Lucky her phantom chokehold hadn’t left any damage. “Got into an argument with a wall. It’s nothing, really.”

Asha looked unconvinced, but she wouldn’t push. She was a hands-off fusser.

“Where are Jaime and Brienne?”

“Getting Cersei acclimated.” Theon finished drying his face and hung the towel back up. “Jaime also had to tell Tyrion to keep his head down while she’s here.”

“Don’t want her loose cannon going off early?”

Theon turned. She moved to let him through the doorway. The room beyond the steam-warmed bathroom was cold and damp and made of stone, just like everything else on Dragonstone. Theon sat heavily on his bed, and Ghost hopped up to join him, lapping at Theon’s lightly bruised cheek. Theon stroked his fur idly and stared out the window, where a heavy but gentle snow was falling on the waves outside. If he looked elsewhere, he would see the carved dragons that flanked his bed, that covered every square inch of the massive castle; it always felt like they were staring at him. Judging him.

_Traitor._

_Coward._

“When did you get back?” he asked. Always a battle between them to see who could act more unconvincingly casual.

“Yesterday,” she answered with a shrug. “Sam’s intel was right.”

Sam’s intel was always right. He worked closely with Grey Worm these days, using his power to gather more information in minutes than Dany and her team had managed to collect in years. Latest reports showed that Project Greenseer had had three facilities: the penitentiary up North, the women’s prison down south, and an orphanage near the Neck. An _orphanage_. They’d been testing their procedure on children.

“How did they keep that hidden?” Theon wondered out loud.

“They shut it down pretty early on. It…wasn’t very successful.”

Qyburn had told him that some patients didn’t survive the procedure, the “augmentation process” as he called it. If adults had a high mortality rate from the surgery, then children…

“Did you find anything?”

“We did,” Asha replied. “Me and Daario were able to track down the single survivor of the facility, kid named Jojen Reed.”

“Is he here?”

She nodded. “Being acclimated.”

“What does he do?”

She paused to think. “I don’t know. I don’t think he ever mentioned it.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know. It took us a while to figure out what Sansa could do, after all.” Yes, it had taken them a while to find that she could sense other psychics. The fact that Qyburn hadn’t figured it out may very well have saved her life.

Asha came around the side of the bed and just kind of…stood there, leaning against the window. The blinding whiteness of the world outside backlit her profile as she contemplated something. “I saw Euron.”

Theon’s head snapped up. “Where?”

“Looking for the kid. We got there first.” She tapped her fingers on the windowsill. “Narrow thing, really.”

“Was he…?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “He was.”

Theon stared at his knees. The last time he’d seen his uncle had also been the last time he’d seen Jon. The memory of it burned into him.

_Traitor._

_Coward._

She slammed the windowsill with her fist. “We’ll get justice for Jon, Theon. We _will_. But what happened to him was _not_ your fault.”

Theon stood. Ghost stood with him. “I should probably check in.”

She looked like she wanted to stop him walking away, or at the very least call him back. But she had restraint, some bizarre genetic throwback. Greyjoys didn’t have restraint. But she did, and she let him go with a nod. “After you do that, you’ll get some rest, yeah? You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Theon said with only a semi-mock smile.

Ghost’s nails clicked on the stones as they went. Sometimes, when the wind whistled through the towers, it sounded like someone was moaning in pain.

The castle at Dragonstone where Daenerys Targaryen had set up shop was enormous, mazelike, and easy to get lost in. And everywhere he went, the eyes of stone dragons watched him. Apparently, Dany’s father had owned the castle, and the island it sat on, though it had long been a tourist spot. Old traces remained—framed pictures with official-looking placards, bits of velvet roping to tell wanderers where they were not welcome. Closed for the winter, wandering the halls felt like exploring an abandoned civilization.

The headquarters, where Dany and her intelligence team—including Sam these days—held their meetings, was located in what had once been a war room. Theon did not go in there often, though Asha had told him that he only needed to ask to be invited to the meetings. He did not care to be invited. No, he was heading to the adjacent room, where Dany’s head of operations kept his office.

He knocked on the door and a voice answered, “Please come in, Theon.”

Theon opened the door to see Varys in his usual seat, a high-backed chair surrounded by stacked books. In the corner, far from the flammable reading material, a heating unit worked overtime to keep the chill from the office.

“I’m back from the mission,” Theon announced lamely. “Everything went well.”

“Good, good. I knew it would.”

He said is so casually, Theon felt something akin to anger flare up. “If you _knew_ it would go well, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because—” Varys, codenamed Spider from his time at Bolton Penetentiary, closed the book he’d been reading. “—it would not have helped you. The present is Point A, Theon, and the future is Point B. I see them both, but I don’t see the path connecting them. I wouldn’t have been able to tell you what to say to Cersei to convince her.”

Theon considered that as he ran his fingers through Ghost’s fur. “Is that why you can’t tell Dany if we’re going to win against Euron or not?”

A look of troubled contemplation came over the odd man’s face. “She asks the same question every day. And I’ll tell you what I tell her every day.” He paused to take the reading glasses of his nose. “There is something very important brewing for the future, a sort of nexus. A tipping point, if you will. I can see it, so hazy. But I can’t see anything beyond that point. It is simply…” He shrugged, bewildered. “Gone.”

“Do you think Euron will succeed, then? In bringing about the end of the world?”

Again, Varys thought. “I think I cannot see the outcome…because the outcome has not been set in stone.”

“Then what’s even the point?” Theon came to sit by the heating unit. Ghost joined him, happily curling up at his feet. The coils burned hot, and Theon had to raise his voice to be heard over the racket it made. “What’s even the point of being able to see the future?”

“Oh, it has its uses.” Varys set his glasses back in place and surreptitiously picked up his book. “For instance, I know that Ms. Daenerys is going to call a meeting tomorrow and that you will want to be there.”

“Why would I want to be there?”

“Because she’s setting her plan in motion.” He turned the page. “The tipping point is approaching quickly. And you’re a part of it, Theon. A large part.”

Theon looked up, scrutinizing the odd man in the chair. “How?”

“Well, that I can’t see. No more than I could see what you would say to Cersei to change her mind. I just know that you will be instrumental in which direction the scale tips. Perhaps you _are_ the very tipping point itself.”

Theon stared into his hand, Ghost’s white fur peaking out in tufts between his fingers. He couldn’t ever see himself changing the course of history. What was there to change? Jon was gone. Theon wouldn’t be seeing him again, though he _would_ be seeing Ramsay again before too soon.

“I can’t do anything,” he murmured.

“You may surprise yourself.”

The thought that scared him the most, however, was that Varys might be right, that he _might_ be the tipping point. And that he would tip the scale in Euron’s favor.


	23. Then: Just Us

When they brought Jon back from his spinal tap, he was shaking and pale. Theon leapt off the bed and ran to him, pulling him tight and running a hand through his hair. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered into his ear. “I know, I know. You’re fine.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Jon nodded. “I, uh…I panicked when they were about to…I…” He chuckled nervously. “I may have punched the nurse in the face.”

Theon chuckled along with him. “Do you want to get dressed?”

Jon looked up at the camera watching them from the corner. “Gods yes.”

Once Jon had his clothes back on, Theon took the hospital gown and draped it, as best he could, over the security camera. Then he steered Jon back to his bed—a little twin-sized mattress barely big enough for one person, let alone two. There was another one in the other corner where Jon was presumably supposed to sleep, but Theon wasn’t going to allow that. He pulled Jon onto the bed with him, and they curled up together, chest to chest, legs tangled.

Theon stroked Jon’s hair until he was no longer shaking. “I should be the one comforting you,” Jon said into his chest. “I used to be a cop for Gods’ sake. And I knew what I was getting into when I handed myself over, but…”

“You don’t need to explain yourself.”

“I’m fine. Really, I am. It was just…after I panicked…they held me down and…”

“Shh,” Theon hushed. “I know, okay? I know.”

“I just need a moment.” He wrapped his arms around Theon’s waist. He breathed deeply, though Theon couldn’t smell too nice. He’d been allowed a single shower in the bathroom down the hall since he’d been here. Jon didn’t seem to mind though. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” Theon was taken aback by the unexpected question. “No.”

“You’re not mad that I let myself get caught.”

“Well…yeah, a little,” Theon admitted. “That was stupid.”

“Maybe. But I don’t regret it.” His nose was cold against Theon’s throat. “I’ll find a way to get us out. After all, Sam and Gilly and Brienne and Jaime will be working to get us out from the outside. They won’t let Dany forget about us.”

“Dany?” Theon found himself immediately suspicious of this strange woman’s name on Jon’s lips.

“Daenerys Drogo,” he explained. Theon remembered that name from Euron’s interrogation. It had sounded familiar then, too, though he couldn’t place how. “She helped me find you.”

“Drogo…” He drew the name out. “A man named Drogo took over my body once. General Tywin was very interested in what his wife was up to.”

Jon lifted his head from the pillow. “Khal Drogo?”

“That was it.”

“So…the government _was_ spying on her.”

“She does know,” Theon went on, “that Drogo wasn’t his last name. And Khal wasn’t his first. In fact, Khal isn’t a name at all. It’s a title.”

“So his real name is…?”

“Just Drogo,” Theon said. “His wife’s name wouldn’t be Daenerys Drogo. It would be Khaleesi Daenerys.”

“Perhaps she was working around foreign naming conventions. She did say she wasn’t from Essos originally. She was born on…” His eyebrow quirked. “Dragonstone.” The quirk turned into a full on thoughtful scowl. “I guess I didn’t make the connection before, but _I_ was born on Dragonstone. My father’s family is from there. My birth father, I mean.”

“Huh,” Theon said. “Strange coincidence.” Jon never talked about his birth parents, mostly because he’d never known them. He’d been a newborn when the two of them had been killed in a boating accident. It was a bit ironic that Theon had met them while Jon had not: a man with pale, pale hair and a woman with dark, dark hair.

“Coincidence,” Jon repeated. “How many people are _born_ on Dragonstone, do you think? Especially given…” He was silent for a while as Theon stroked his cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Daenerys is a Valyrian name.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Theon said to change the subject. He didn’t like seeing Jon so troubled. Even if they were in a troubling situation. “The others will find a way to get us out. But for now, you must be tired.”

Jon’s eyes snapped back to him and he nodded.

“Get some sleep.”

“But how can I—?”

“Get some sleep,” Theon repeated. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” He pressed a kiss to Jon’s forehead. “I’ll watch over you, okay?”

 

***

 

For some reason, Theon thought that with both of them “harvested” and down for the count as they healed for the next procedure, they would largely be left alone. He obviously didn’t know his own uncle well enough.

He had drifted off sometime after Jon, only to be yanked out of sleep by the slamming of the door. The both of them were up in an instant, blinking in the harsh light. Euron’s far-too-familiar frame appeared in the doorway, and in a flash, Jon had rolled over and used his body to cover Theon, offering himself as a human shield before Theon could even think to protest.

Euron chuckled as he came in. He found their acts of defiance amusing, just like Ramsay had. To be laughed at when you were so fiercely trying to protect yourself or someone else… Jon gritted his teeth at it but didn’t yield an inch as Euron walked in.

“Just like being at camp again, eh, nephew? Sneaking out of your bed to play with the other boys under their blankets.” He pointed to the gown-covered camera. “Did you boys enjoy your private time? You robbed me of the chance to see which one of you tops. You’re both so womanish, but if I had to choose, I’d say my nephew is the bitch.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Jon snapped. “You don’t get to talk to him like that.”

“I get to talk to him however I want.” Euron closed the door behind him and took a seat on Jon’s empty bed. “Really,” he continued, staring into his hands, laced together in his lap, “I can do anything I want to either of you. There isn’t anything stopping me.”

“There’s me stopping you,” Jon snarled. “I won’t let you hurt him.”

“Oh, really?” Euron’s eye flashed. “Get off of him.”

Theon scrabbled to cover Jon’s eyes, with his hands or the sheets, but it was too late. Jon rolled off of Theon.

“Now come here.” Euron patted his thigh.

Jon went, looking like a zombie.

“No.” Theon clambered out of bed, trailing the sheets with him. “Don’t touch him.”

Euron sighed. “This protective act is getting old. You, go sit on the bed until I call you.”

Theon averted his eyes as Euron spoke. The compulsion to obey him never appeared. He latched onto Jon, dragging him back. Jon fought against him.

Euron laughed. “So, you’ve figured out a way around my little party trick.” He stood. “That’s fine. Like I said, I don’t find you much of a challenge.” He strode forward and pulled Theon off of Jon. Then delivered a swift punch to his gut.

Theon doubled over as it felt like every organ in his belly ruptured. He fell to the ground, vomiting bile all over the tiles.

Euron placed a boot on his back and pressed down, forcing Theon into the puddle and pinning him to the ground. “Since you’re so keen on protecting each other,” he began, eyes on Jon, “why don’t we just do this the old-fashioned way? You, Snow, answer my questions and answer them truthfully. Or I’ll make him suffer while you watch.”

Jon stood there, looking unsure of himself.

“You understand? Look at me and tell me you understand.”

Jon lifted his gaze to meet Euron’s. A tense moment passed, and Theon could see the cogs in Jon’s head spinning. He was sizing his opponent up, looking for weakness. In the end, he simply nodded. “Didn’t I already tell you everything yesterday?”

“Ah, but I have new questions. You see, you blocked the video, but not the microphone. And I have questions about your conversation last night.”

“Okay. Let him up and I’ll answer them for you.”

Euron pressed down harder. Theon wheezed in pain.

“Alright, alright!” Jon threw out his hands, as if pleading with Euron to stop. “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know, Jon Snow, what your real name is.”


	24. Then: Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double Euron chapters!

“My name?” Jon repeated. “You know my name.”

“Your _real_ name,” Euron said, pressing down on Theon’s back again. Theon bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making any noises of distress. “You’re not an orphan, not a Snow. You were adopted by your uncle, but you’re not a Stark. Why not?”

“Because Mrs. Stark didn’t want me to take their name.”

“So, you weren’t born a Stark. Why didn’t you take your father’s name?”

“Because…”

Jon hesitated and Euron pressed down even harder. To his shame, he let out a long, low moan as his kidneys took the brunt of the force.

“Please.” Jon clenched his jaw. “You don’t have to hurt him. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“I bet they never put you on negotiations when you were on the police force.” Euron kicked Theon in the ribs, sending him rolling onto his side. “Of course I don’t have to do this. But I want to. I enjoy it.” He kicked Theon again, and this time Theon screamed as something snapped.

“Stop!” Jon took a menacing step forward.

Euron glared at him. “Stay where you are.”

Jon froze, mid-step, shaking in rage. “You…you’ll kill him. He’s one of your assets, isn’t he?”

“The thing is,” Euron laughed, “when you’ve killed as many people as I have, you know just how much they can take.”

He toed at Theon’s broken rib. Theon bit back another scream. If Jon weren’t in the room, he wouldn’t have tried so hard, but he couldn’t let him see how much pain he was truly in. It might back him do something stupid.

“So, no, I won’t kill him. But I’ll make him scream again. In fact, why don’t I make him scream for every second of my time you waste?” He knelt with his knee of Theon’s back, and that was bad enough, but then he grabbed Theon’s left hand and quickly, without warning, snapped the index finger.

Theon howled.

“Stop!” Jon grabbed his hair like he was going to pull it out. “Stop, stop. I’ll answer. Uh, what was the question?”

“Your father’s name.” Euron took hold of the middle finger next, and snapped it just as easily. Theon slammed the ground with his free hand. “What was it?”

“Targaryen!” Jon shouted. “Rhaegar Targaryen! I changed it to Snow because I didn’t want people knowing I was related to Aerys Targaryen.”

Euron grinned like a madman. No, not _like_ a madman. He _was_ a madman. “I see. Thank you for answering my questions.” He stood and kicked Theon one more time, though not so hard. Then began towards the door. “You can see to him now, if you want.”

Jon ran to Theon’s side and helped him roll over. “You’re not just going to leave him like this?” Jon cried. “He needs medical treatment.”

Euron stopped and hung his head with a weary sigh, as if Jon had asked him to take out the trash. “Yes, I suppose. I’ll get Nurse Westerling to patch him up.” He stuck his head out the door. “Nurse Westerling!” His holler echoed off the walls and down the hall. “Get your ass in here!”

The tapping of high heels indicated her arrival. She entered, her face as flat as ever, even when Euron delivered a smack to her ass.

“Get my nephew to stop crying, would you?”

“Yes, ser,” she answered. She knelt down gently next to Jon and Theon. “Where does it hurt?”

The both of them gawked at her.

“M-my ribs,” Theon wheezed. “I think one of them is broken. And…” He held out a shaking hand.

“Are you able to stand? Do I need to call for help?”

“No,” Jon answered, swinging Theon’s uninjured arm over his shoulder. “I’ve got him.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, ser.” She stood as they did. “Please help him to the bed so that I may examine him more thoroughly.”

Jon did, all while Euron watched from the doorframe like a bird of prey.

Theon lay back against the pillows, wincing. Subconsciously, he clutched his side, but that only caused more pain in his ribs and broken fingers. He could hardly breathe. He could hardly see through the hot tears in his eyes.

Nurse Westerling—Westerling? Westerling—ran her slender hands up and down his sides, ever so slightly. Her eyes were focused, paying particular care to where he flinched away from her touch. At last, she drew her stethoscope from around her neck. “Lean forward. I need to listen to your heart and lungs.”

Theon did, though it was painful. Jon held his hand and shot hateful looks at Euron. _Don’t look him in the eye_!

“Do you know what I did to the last man who hurt Theon?”

_Jon, don’t. He’s done. He’s leaving. Don’t bring him back in._

“Oh.” Euron took a lazy, confident stride in, hands tucked into the pockets of his business pants. “I think I’ve heard that story before. But by all means, do tell.”

Nurse Westerling’s eyebrows drew together in concentration. “Take a deep breath for me.”

Theon took as deep a breath he could and held Jon’s hand as tightly as he could. _Please, don’t say anything else_.

“I tracked him down and gave him a tracheotomy with my teeth.”

“My, how savage of you,” Euron said with a mock scowl. “Did that make our little bitch here weak in the knees?”

“It sounds as if you may have a broken rib seven or eight,” Nurse Westerling said, slinging the stethoscope back over her neck. She pulled out a pen and notepad from the pocket of her scrubs and began writing. “Though I heard no indication of either lung or aorta puncture, I’m going to recommend a chest x-ray.”

Euron came to stand by the bedside, leering at Jon. “Did you act of heroism make him wet for you?”

Jon snarled. Theon felt him start to pull away, ready to attack. He couldn’t let that happen.

So he acted first.

He grabbed Nurse Westerling’s pen out of her hands, pushed her out of the way—she didn’t put up any resistance—and sat up on the bed.

And jammed the pen right into his uncle’s throat.


	25. Now: Daenerys and Dreamwalker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for copious amounts of bad science. Medical students may want to look away.

Dany did call a meeting the next day. Of course she would. Varys was never wrong.

Asha was a bit startled when Theon asked to sit in, but she agreed quickly. He sat next to her at the sprawling war table, with its outdated overhead light casting shadows across the faces of their motley crew.

There were Sam and Grey Worm, hunched over a single computer. Daario and Belwas—one casual, the other stern, both disinterested in anyone or anything that wasn’t Dany. Jaime, with Cersei seated on his left and Brienne to his right. The latter kept casting suspicious looks at the former over Jaime’s shoulder. Tyrion was conspicuously absent, for his own good, no doubt.  Sansa and Margaery, it seemed, had also asked to sit in today. Melisandre sat in the far corner, dancing a bright red flame across her hand.

And, of course, Daenerys Targyen, leaning over the table, watching them all. “Thank you all for coming,” she said, looking specifically at Cersei.

Cersei looked back, unamused. “I didn’t think there were any Targaryens left.”

Dany’s back stiffened as she stood upright. “Yes, despite _your_ family’s best efforts.”

Cersei rolled her eyes. “Are you sure _you_ of all people want to bring up family sins?”

The two women glared at each other.

“Let’s not bring up the past,” Jaime spoke up. “No one here would pass that purity test.”

Dany’s frame relaxed. “You’re right, of course. We can’t be dragged into the same infighting that plagued earlier generations. We have a common enemy.” A side-eyed a glance at Cersei. “You were briefed, I take it?”

“I received _some_ manner of explanation. This man, this…Euron Greyjoy…” She scoffed. “He’s using us to build an army.”

“Not anymore,” Dany said.

This startled half the table, Theon included.

Dany noted this with an amused grin on her face. She liked catching people off guard, something Theon had noticed about her. Her grin quickly faded away, though, and a more appropriately somber expression took its place. She nodded to Sam. “Tell them.”

Sam looked up from his computer, startled. “Ah, right…” His eyes went to Grey Worm for backup. “Alright, um, the latest data we’ve collected from White & Walker indicates that they are no longer actively collecting psychics.”

Grey Worm took over. “They’ve perfected a means of propagating the reanimation process.” He flipped the computer around to show them all the screen. It looked like a jumble of letters and numbers to Theon. “They’ve managed to genetically engineer an infectious agent, created from a strain of rabies virus.”

“This is how it works,” Sam said, finding his momentum. “The original host is injected with the reanimating serum, made from your—our—brain fluids, and then infected with this new virus. It’s highly infectious and highly lethal. One bite or scratch—anything to draw blood, really—from one of these reanimated corpses gives you a dose of both the serum and the virus. The serum reanimates you; the virus drives the host’s brain to spread it again.”

“Self-propagating reanimation,” Grey Worm finished succinctly.

Everything was silent as everyone took that in.

“How quickly does it spread?” Sansa asked.

“Our projections show that in a town the size of…say, Mole Town…” Sam paused to check. “Total infection could occur in less than two weeks. And in a bigger city, with people living so close to each other, potentially much faster.”

Dany looked at everyone gathered around the table. “If we wait for the first outbreak to occur, it will be too late. We need to stop this before Euron introduces his plague to the general population.”

“Just point us in the right direction,” Asha said.

Dany smiled. Something like an eye-fuck passed between them. Theon couldn’t help but notice the dark look Daario threw Asha’s direction.

“We’re going to hit the main facility, and hard.”

Jaimed raised his hand. “Why not call in the military? We’ve got a direct link to Stannis Baratheon.” He nodded to Melisandre, who nodded back, cordially.

Dany’s face darkened. “No. Never.”

“You expect the military to help us?” Daario scoffed. “After what they’ve done to half the people in this room?”

“Yes, but Baratheon didn’t know anything about that,” Brienne said, backing Jaime up. “He would gladly help us if we went to him for help.”

“I am _not_ ,” Dany said through gritted teeth, “asking that man for help. Never, never.”

Jaime leaned back in his chair. “I bet not so long ago you also said you’d never ask a Lannister for help.”

Dany looked at him, and he looked back, grinning his shit-eating grin. Dany liked catching people off guard, but Jaime liked to win points over others.

“Look,” he said, tone a tad more serious, “I recognize that, due to your personal history, you might not be too keen on trusting the government. Or any government. Hells, I’m right there with you. But the fact is, we may need to work with them. If this…zombie doomsday is as imminent as you seem to think, then we should be doing everything in our power to stop it. You cannot allow your pride to close off options. And trust me, I know a thing or two about pride, okay?”

Dany was silent a moment, contemplating him. The air in the room was so tense, Theon could hardly breathe.

“I will consider it,” she said at last, “as a last resort.”

Jaime held out his arms in surrender. “That’s all I ask.”

“However,” she continued, “I believe it will not come to that. I believe, with Senator Lannister’s help, that we now have the needed firepower to stand a chance on our own.”

Cersei’s lip curled over bared teeth, giving her the look of her Lioness namesake. “The facility you plan to attack…you said Dr. Sparrow is there?”

Dany nodded, and Theon saw similar looks of mingled fear and anger on Magaery and Melisandre’s faces.

“In that case,” Cersei growled, “just put me on the ground and aim me at whoever I need to kill.”

Dany graced her with a smile too. “Glad to hear it. We’ll go over the details once the plan is in place. For now, I need to know who’s in.” She looked around the table.

Daario was the first to raise his hand.

Followed half a split second later by Asha.

Dany nodded to acknowledge them, even as they hate-fucked each other with their eyes.

“I’m in,” Jaime said.

“Me too,” Brienne added. “Partners stick together.”

Cersei gave her a sour look.

“Me,” Grey Worm spoke up. “I have extensive combat training, and Sam can man the intelligence station in my place while I’m on the ground with the others.”

Sam’s eyes grew large. “Really? You trust me?”

“Of course,” Grey Worm said. “I would not have worked with you these past months if I did not.”

Sam really looked like he was going to cry.

“I’ll go,” Melisandre said next. “I would like a word with Dr. Sparrow as well.” The flames in her hand flared.

“You’ll have to get to him first,” Cersei laughed. “He’s mine, and when I’m done with him, there won’t be a single shred left.”

“Give him something on my behalf as well,” Margaery said. “I…I’m not much of a fighter. I would probably just slow you down, otherwise I’d go myself.”

Sansa gave a helpless shrug. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can really do either.”

“You’ve done enough,” Dany said, an almost motherly look crossing her face. “More than enough. You’ve earned some rest.”

Sansa nodded gratefully.

“Me,” Theon said, standing. “I want to go too.”

All eyes turned to him.

“Theon,” Asha hissed.

“Asha,” he hissed back. “I _need_ to go.”

“No, you don’t.” She turned to face him, hands on her hips in disapproval. “I know you want to take down Uncle Euron probably more than anyone else in this room, but do you really think Jon would want you to kill yourself trying to avenge him?”

“I _need_ to go, Asha.”

“What happens if we get there and you end up face to face with Euron, hmm? What will you do?”

“I’ll finish him.”

“Will you? Really?” She stared him down. “Do you really think you’ll be able to?”

He didn’t flinch from her. “You’re always telling me that I’m stronger than I think I am. Well, maybe I’m stronger than you think I am too.”

A tense moment passed.

Nobody in the room spoke.

At last, Asha sighed. “Fine,” she relented. Then, to Dany, “We’re both in. When’s debriefing for this thing?”

“Hopefully tomorrow,” Dany said. “I suggest you all rest up. We’ll debrief at dawn and debark early morning.” She stared at the table in contemplation for a moment. “Thank you, all of you. You’re dismissed.”

Everyone paired off as they left the war room: Sam and Gilly, Sansa and Margaery, Jaime and Cersei. Brienne watched the latter walk off together, shoulders slumped. It looked like Theon wasn’t the only one walking back to his room alone.

He made his way back, watched by a hundred dragons’ stone eyes. Outside, waves lashed against the island’s jagged spires. The snow had let up, though. They would have passable travel weather tomorrow.

His mind was on this, and how he hated riding in Daenerys’s private airplane in harsh weather, so he was startled when he rounded the corner to see the figure slouched against the wall outside his room. He squinted as he drew nearer. Mousy brown hair, raggedy clothing, looked to be a child.

“Can I help you?”

The kid looked up as he approached. Eyes sunken, deep brown, staring into him. “You’re Theon,” he stated. “You look just like you did in my dream.”

Theon understood right away. “You’re the one Asha and Daario brought back.” He searched to remember a name, but he hadn’t really been paying attention at the time. “Joe?”

“Jojen. Reed.” He struggled to stand. Kid was painfully thin. His clothes hung off him like he was made of twigs. “I’m not a Snow, you know. I’m not an orphan. I was at the orphanage because they took me. Because of what I can do.”

Theon sidestepped him and reached for the door handle, ready to slip in and slam it closed if the kid turned out to be volatile. “What can you do?”

The boy smiled slyly. “I…see things. In my dreams. Things that happened in the past, things that are going to happen. Things that are happening right now. I can see into other people’s dreams too. They called me Dreamwalker.” His face turned stony.

“They called me Ghost,” Theon said.

An unspoken sympathy passed between them. Theon let his hold on the door handle slide.

“I’ve always been able to see things,” Jojen went on. He had a stilted sort of way of speaking, not childlike, exactly. In fact, aside from his appearance, there was nothing particularly childlike about him. “The Reeds have always had members of a family who can see things. Do things.” He gave Theon a meaningful look. “The Targaryens aren’t the only ones.”

 “The things you see…” Theon began, paused, then started again. “Do you see what will happen tomorrow?”

The boy shook his head. “No. I came to find you because…I thought you might like to talk with him.”

Theon froze in place. “Who?”

Jojen look him straight in the eye. “Jon.”

“Jon?”

Theon’s throat seized. The world around him seemed to stop. Even the crashing of the waves outside seemed to stop.

“Jon is…alive?”

Jojen nodded. “He’s trapped outside his body.”

Theon gripped the kid by the shoulders. Felt bones under the sweater. “How can I talk to him?”

“My powers,” Jojen said. “Not only can I see into other dreams, I can also bring others into _my_ dreams. Jon…he dreams. It’s all he does. I can bring the both of you into my dreams.” He paused. “If you want.”

Theon felt something warm and wet on his cheek. He brushed the tear away. “Until fifteen seconds ago, I thought he was dead.”

“Gone,” Jojen corrected. “Not dead.”

So many warring emotions within him. How was it that a name, a single word, was able to bring meaning back into his life? “Please…” He loosened his grip on Jojen’s shoulders. “Please, if you can, you have to take me to him.”

Jojen nodded. “I will come for you when you are asleep. And then we will go to find Jon.”


	26. Then: Break

Euron stumbled backwards. Eyes wide, as if he could not comprehend what had just happened. He probably couldn’t. He reached for the pen and ripped it out. Blood spurted everywhere. And then he fell over backwards and lay there, gurgling as blood filled his throat.

Jon looked equally shocked. It was actually Nurse Westerling who recovered first. She wiped at her face and stared at her blood-smeared hand. Then she blinked, and her eyes grew impossibly wide. She whirled towards Jon and Theon, and for a moment, Theon worried that she was going to retaliate. Instead, she grabbed Theon’s hand.

“We have to get out of here.” She gave him a tug. “I know a way. Come on, before security arrives.”

Jon grabbed her by the shoulder. “Wait, how—?”

“He’s dead,” she said, nodding towards the jerking body on the floor, “or at least dying. His trance is broken. _Now_ is our chance to escape.”

She seemed both terrified and relieved at the same time, and definitely more human than she’d been previously. “I trust her,” Theon announced, hopping off the bed. His ribs protested and he winced.

Jon hurried to support him. “But she—”

“Euron was controlling her too.” He looked to her for confirmation. “Wasn’t he?”

“We have to _go_ ,” she answered, pulling with renewed urgency.

Jon, no longer able to argue, allowed her to lead the way.

“Walk, don’t run,” she instructed over her shoulder. “The longer we can go without attracting attention, the more time we’ll have to free the others.”

“The others?” Jon asked.

“Margaery,” Theon said, gripping Jon’s shoulder nervously. He hadn’t seen her since the incident with Dr. Maz Durr.

“She’s being kept in a room like yours,” Westerling said without looking over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll get her out too. Along with the original test subject.”

“The origi—?”

“The voice I heard,” Jon interrupted. “The one who kept me from jumping back into my body. That’s who you’re talking about, isn’t it?”

“He has the ability control minds when they are separated from their bodies,” Westerling said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Greyjoy was using him to control other test subjects.”

They came to a door with a key card lock. Westerling slid her card through the slot and opened the door. Margaery sat up as they filed in. “Theon!” she cried. “And…Jon?” She hurried out of bed, tripping a bit. “What are you…?”

“We’re busting you out,” Jon said, taking control of the situation.

Margaery noticed Nurse Westerling. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“She’s a friend,” Theon said.

“A friend who stabs you in the back with needles?”

“Another one of my uncle’s victims. Everything will be explained later, but right now is our best chance at escaping.”

Margaery lifted her chin. “Say no more.”

As the four of them headed back out into the hall, the lights went out, the white of the fluorescents replaced by a flashing red alarm. A voice called over the PA system, “Attention: we have a security breach on Sublevel Two. Repeat, security breath. Escaped patients, highly dangerous. Unknown if armed.”

“Okay,” Westerling said. “Now we run.”

They ran, Theon ignoring the screaming in his side. Both Margaery and Jon helped him when he lagged.

“Where are we going?” Jon demanded.

“There’s a secret exit,” Westerling said breathlessly. “A tunnel on ground level that leads out into the forest.”

At the end of the hall was a door painted in yellow and red stripes, emblazoned with the word “Personnel Only.” Westerling’s key card opened it easily.

“In there,” she pointed to a tunnel carved into the concrete. The way was lit with lantern bulbs strung together with wire, the way mine shafts were often lit. Just staring into it gave Theon an uneasy knot in his gut. “Just follow it,” Westerling instructed. “It will go on and on for what feels like forever. It’s about two miles long. But it will eventually take you up into the forest.”

She turned to go.

Jon grabbed her shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“I need to free the last patient,” she said. “They keep him in solitary confinement. I…I can’t just leave him here.” She pulled away from him. “The three of you should escape though.”

Jon looked to Margaery, then swung Theon’s arm off of his neck. “Margaery, help Theon get to safety. I’m going to help her—” he nodded to Westerling “—get this last patient out.”

“Jon, no.” Theon struggled to grasp at him, to keep him from going, but Jon was already heading out with Westerling. “Margaery, I’m not leaving without Jon.”

“Calm down,” Margaery said, picking up Jon’s slack as she supported Theon. “I’ve not intention of letting Jon gallivant off on his own. Sansa would never forgive me if I let her brother-cousin get killed.”

Theon wanted to hug her, maybe even kiss her. Later. And when Sansa wasn’t watching. Together, they followed after Jon and Westerling.

It was no mean feat, what with Margaery having to partially hold him up so he wouldn’t double over. Following the sound of Westerling’s heels, they found themselves in a dead-end hallway, with Westerling already having opened the lone door with her key card. Jon flung it back just as Margaery and Theon caught up to him.

The figure inside flinched away from the light streaming in through the doorway. He’d been kept in darkness, a room with no light and no bed. Just an impossibly thin man with ratty hair, a ratty beard, and a ratty hospital gown. He turned to hide his face from them, but even then, Theon recognized him. Even with the beard and the hair and the weight loss, he recognized him.

“Uncle Aeron?” He pushed past everyone. “Uncle Aeron, what did he do to you?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised, what with Euron’s callous behavior towards his own nephew. But his _brother_?

Aeron renewed his efforts to bury his face. “Don’t look. I—I’m not…”

“It’s okay.” Theon came closer. He didn’t have many vivid memories of his youngest uncle; he’d left to study for the priesthood when Theon had been fairly young. But he remembered a stoic man, a man who radiated strength and uncaring. A man truly made of iron. Nothing at all like the man scrabbling to get away from him now. “We’re here to get you out, uncle.”

“No! There is no—no out.”

The alarms in the hallway continued to blare.

“We have to go,” Margaery said. “Here.” She reached out for the huddled man. “Jon and I can—”

“No!” Aeron hissed and drew away from her. She recoiled in turn.

“Let me,” Westerling said. “I’ve been tending him for several months now.” She schooled her face into a blank expression, slipping back into her role as Euron’s puppet. “Mr. Greyjoy, I’ve been asked to escort you to the lab for your monthly physical. Please heed the orderlies.”

Aeron’s eyes went wide. Immediately, he untucked himself from the corner.

“Brilliant,” Margaery said, in obvious awe of Westerling’s acting ability.

Aeron followed Westerling demurely, head tilted and aimed at the ground.

“I’m beginning to think your uncle’s fucked up,” Jon said. “I mean, the fucked up one.”

“They’re all fucked up,” Theon said as they walked at a brisk pace back towards the tunnel. “Not a Greyjoy alive who isn’t fucked up.”

They rounded a corner with their charge, the homestretch before the escape tunnel. Only to find, not freedom, but two armed security guards. And Qyburn, standing the hallway, as calm as you please.

“Freeze!” the first guard yelled, aiming his pistol.

The other guard had a security dog that pulled at its leash, eager to rip them apart. No doubt what it had been trained to do.

“Damphair,” Qyburn said over the dog’s barking, which was remarkable since it didn’t sound like he had raised his voice at all. “What are you doing out?”

Aeron looked at the ground.

“These people may have told you that Euron is dead, but that isn’t quite true. He’s still very much alive, but critical at the moment. You know what the means, right? That contingency plan we talked about?”

Aeron shook his head, but it seemed to be more of a nervous tic than a denial.

“I know you know what I’m talking about,” Qyburn said, like a parent trying to coax a lying child to confess a misdeed. “The Long Night Contingency. Yes, I know it’s a bit early, but you’re going to have to implement it now. Do you understand?”

The dog whined as it tried to break free from its leash. Beside him, Theon felt Jon smirk. “Theon, I’m sorry to have to ask this of you, with your ribs and everything, but you and Margaery and Westerling are going to have to carry my body while I’m unconscious.”

Before Theon could react with either a, “Yeah, sure,” or a “Jon, don’t,” Jon had already done the thing. The thing where he put his mind into an animal’s body, which caused him to collapse pretty much immediately. Leaving Theon to keep his body from hitting the floor. Margaery rushed in to help him, just as the guard dog fell silent.

And with a growl turned and leapt on its master. The guard clearly wasn’t expecting this—though he should have been, should have familiarized himself with the psychics he was tasked with keeping under control—and fell over backwards.

“What the—?” the other guard choked out, lowering his gun, while the first screamed and shielded his face with his hands.

To everyone’s surprise, Westerling lunged forward and brought the palm of her hand right into the other guard’s nose. When he recoiled, she grabbed the gun out of his hands and turned it on Qyburn, who seemed legitimately surprised. “I took a woman’s defense class in college,” she said with a hint of a smirk on her face. “Don’t think I don’t know how to use this.”

Qyburn’s surprise melted into his usual smile, with just a touch of acquiescence. He raised his hands in surrender, as did the guard, who appeared to have a broken nose. The other guard was still screaming and rolling around as Jon tore at him.

“Okay,” Westerling said, “we’re leaving. You two think you can carry Jon?”

“He’s heavy,” Margaery grunted.

“Yeah, we can do it,” Theon answered for both of them, because what other option did they have? Aeron certainly wasn’t going to step up and help them out.

Somehow, he and Margaery managed to drag Jon by each taking an arm. Aeron followed when Westerling told him to, and she went last, holding the gun steady with both hands and backing away. It was an odd little parade, but they made their way back to the tunnel. Westerling closed the door and barred it from the inside. It was a heavy bar. No one would be able to break through that within the next few minutes or so. It gave them time to set Jon down so they could catch their breaths.

“No way I’m dragging him down a mile-long tunnel,” Margaery huffed.

“He’ll be coming back to himself pretty soon.” Theon knelt down and ran a hand through Jon’s hair. He was peaceful like this, not like Theon, who went into epileptic fits when he used his power. No, Jon just looked like he was asleep. Mouth slack, full lips parted. Dark eyelashes brushing his cheeks. “He always comes back to me.”

The eyelashes fluttered.

Theon patted his cheek. “Wake up, Jon. We have to get moving.”

Jon’s eyes flew open.

But something was wrong.

Those weren’t Jon’s eyes.

Oh, the color was Jon’s, the same stormy grey. But there was something…wrong about them. Something _not Jon_.

Jon smiled. A cruel smile. Not Jon’s smile.

“Hello, nephew.”


	27. Now: Back

There was a mist. It was warm as it curled around him. Theon couldn’t hardly remember what warm was. He hadn’t felt warm in months. The sensation spread all the way to his fingers and toes, driving out the numbness that had taken hold there since he’d set foot on Dragonstone. Probably before.

From out of the mist, a figure appeared. The kid. Jojen. He had someone with him.

“Jon!”

“Th…Theon?”

Theon ran for him. It felt like he was flying as he bridged the gap separating them and enveloped Jon in his arms. Jon just stood there, looking startled, bewildered.

“Is…this…real?” He ran a hand experimentally over Theon’s head. “Am I finally dead?”

“No, I’m here,” Theon said, holding him tighter. This was a dream, he remembered that, but it felt real. “I’m here and I’m coming for you. God, all this time, I thought you were dead.”

“Is this real?” Jon repeated. “Am I…a person?”

What did that mean?

“Of course you are.” Theon kissed his forehead, his cheeks.

Jon didn’t respond immediately. “I dream that I’m a person, sometimes. But when I wake up…I’m back in a little cage.”

“He’s trapped outside of his body,” Jojen explained, and Theon wished he would just go away, give them a moment of privacy. But no, that was selfish thinking. Jojen was here to help him, help Jon. “He’s _been_ trapped outside of his body for a long time.”

“Is there a way to get him back in?” Theon asked.

“There is, if Euron vacates his body.”

“Euron,” Jon repeated hollowly. “Crow’s Eye.”

“I’ll get your body back,” Theon said, touching Jon’s face to bring his mind back. “I’ll get you out of that little cage. I promise.”

Jon just looked at him. Blinked. Then wrapped his arms around Theon’s neck.

Theon held him as he cried. He’d never seen Jon cry before. Not like this. Loud, body-wracking sobs. “I forgot I had arms,” he wailed. “Gods, has it all been one, long nightmare?”

“Yes.” Theon rocked him steadily. “Just a bad dream. I’m here now.”

Jon quieted and whimpered into Theon’s hair.

 

***

 

“You didn’t sleep.” Asha gave him a disapproving scowl from the seat across the way.

“I did,” Theon protested. _Just not very restful sleep_.

He turned and looked out the window. Twenty-thousand feet below them, the icy landscape passed by in a white blur. Not a single color for several hours now. Nothing but snow as far as could be seen.

“You’re happy.”

He raised his head, letting the fog of his breath on the window dissipate. He hadn’t heard Dany come up to sit beside him. Too lost in his own thoughts. She couldn’t hear them, of course, but she could…

“You’re the only one here who’s happy,” she said, looking around the cabin at the grim faces. “It’s very distracting.”

Theon still wasn’t entirely clear on how her abilities worked. The abilities that had been handed down to certain members of her family for generations—and, subsequently, Jon. She said she was an empath. Said she could feel others’ emotions, ever since she was a child.

In a way, it felt more violating than if she could read his thoughts.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“No, don’t be.” Waves of white hair swayed as she shook her head. “It’s a good distraction. Everyone here is so tense. I’m just curious is all.”

He contemplated what to tell her, _if_ he should tell her. “We can’t kill Euron,” he said at last.

Her eyebrows went up.

“Jon’s still alive.”

He hadn’t realized what a relief it was to have answers. The past months he’d wondered why Jon’s ghost had never come to him. Because he was angry at Theon for failing him? He’d waited. Waited an entire month. But Jon never came. Ramsay came. Ramsay was a constant presence at his side, but still Theon refused to have an inhibitor installed.

After the first month, he’d accepted that, for some unknown reason, Jon didn’t want to talk to him. And he’d allowed Jeyne to install a new inhibitor.

Ramsay went away, but thoughts of Jon continued to haunt him.

But now…

“He’s still in there,” Theon said. “Trapped. I spoke with him last night. If Aeron is still alive, then there’s a chance we can banish Euron from Jon’s body. We’ll kill my uncle and save Jon all in the same stroke.”

Honestly, though, he wasn’t so sure on that last part. Jeyne had explained that Aeron had been forcibly “augmented” at Euron’s request, a sort of litmus test before Euron underwent his own augmentation. Aeron’s psychic powers manifested as the ability to control disembodied minds. He’d been able to stop Margaery from astral projecting outside of the facility. He’d been able to channel Euron’s mind into Jon’s empty body. But could he reverse the switch? And would he?

“I’ll give the order that Euron is to be taken alive,” Dany said. She must have felt that he was receptive to it, because she reached out and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “If there’s any chance we can get my nephew back, even the slimmest chance, I’ll take it.”

Theon gave her a weak smile. “Would you do me a favor?”

She seemed startled at the request. “Of course.”

He reached for the back of his neck. “Would you help me turn my inhibitor off?”

“Of course,” she repeated, a little more hesitantly. “Are you sure? We won’t be at the facility for some time. In fact, if you don’t want to at all—”

“I want to,” he interrupted. He turned around to give her access to the stud at the base of his neck. “It’s all I have to offer.”

She sighed, but soon enough he felt her slender fingers reaching for the dial. No need to rip this one out, get blood all over the seats of her private jet. “That’s not true,” she said softly.

“I mean, I guess I’m a pretty good marksman—you don’t grow up in my family and not learn how to shoot—but if you gave me anything larger than a handgun in my current state, the recoil would probably knock me on my ass. Not exactly the best offense when going up against the living dead.”

He winced as she turned the dial. He could feel his brain prickling already. Or maybe that was just his imagination.

“You’re worth more than your powers,” Dany said as she lowered her hands.

Theon swung his head in a one-eighty sweep to look at her.

Ramsay was seated next to her.

“Now why you’d go and block me out for two whole months, Ghost?”

Theon ignored him. “I’m not sure exactly what else I could contribute.”

She shifted in her seat, folded her hands in her lap. “I used to think my powers were the only useful thing about me too. It’s how I pulled myself up after my husband’s death. It’s how I amassed all my wealth after Drogo’s clan left me stranded. My inheritance was under lockdown by your government, after all. I couldn’t touch it. But I could read emotions of others, judge their intent and how willing they would be to invest in my cause. And as I gained wealth, I gained more followers. That was the only connection I could see.”

Ramsay rolled his eyes, and Theon continued to ignore him.

“I made a bad investment.” She clasped her hands together tightly. “I misread the situation and lost…almost everything.” She lowered her head, as if in shame. “I was certain, _certain_ that my followers would abandon me. That they would see how worthless I was. But…” A small smirk. “They didn’t. They stayed by my side. It was Jorah who took me aside. He said, ‘I pledge myself to you. No man or woman here pledges themselves to your wealth. We pledge ourselves to your cause because we believe in it. And in you.’

“Look around you,” she said, nodding with her head. “Who here would Jon trust without question, if we were to find him?”

Theon looked around. Melisandre? Probably not. In fact, Theon wasn’t even sure Jon had ever met her. Or Cersei, so she was out as well. Jon had worked with Dany’s people briefly—Grey Worm, Daario, Belwas—but in his animal body, would that be enough? Jaime or Brienne? Possibly. Asha? He knew her. But again…

“If we find Jon, we’ll need you there,” she said. “If any of us can get through to him, it’s you.”

Ramsay let out a noise of annoyed disgust. “And I thought _Seventh Hell_ was torture.”

The plane jolted, and Theon grasped the armrests tightly. Dany simply rose to her feet.

“We’re landing,” she announced to those gathered in the cabin. Everyone looked up from their respective distractions. “When we touch down, Jorah will be there to pick us up. I’m issuing you all an order right now. Once you’ve breached the facility, you are to take Euron Greyjoy alive if at all humanly possible. I repeat, take Euron Greyjoy alive.”

“Thank you,” Theon murmured.

She smiled at him before turning back to the cockpit. “Prepare for landing.”


	28. Then: Empty

Euron smiled with Jon’s face as he sat up. “Well, this is not quite was I was expecting,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “It seems someone did a real number on our dear Jon. The lad’s body feels older than mine. Ah, but it’s preferable to mine. You saw to that, didn’t you, nephew?”

Theon stared, aghast. Unsure of what to do. How to react.

Margaery swooped in. “Get out of there,” she ordered, grabbing Euron’s (Jon’s?) shoulders and shaking him roughly. “That body doesn’t belong to you.”

“Aeron must have switched them while Jon was out,” Westerling said.

Margaery spun Aeron, who was staring at the floor. “Switch them back.”

Aeron didn’t answer.

“He can’t,” Euron said with a laugh. His own demented laugh. Not Jon’s laugh. “He won’t.”

Theon ran to his uncle’s side. “Uncle Aeron, please.” He put his hands on his shoulders. “You have to switch them back. Jon doesn’t deserve this.”

“He won’t listen to you.” Euron stood shakily, clearly not used to Jon’s leg injury. He steadied himself against the wall. “Not that he would have before, you’re so pathetic, but he’s under my thumb now. I’m his god.”

Theon growled and threw himself at his uncle. “Get out of there!”

“Or what? You’ll kill me? Again? Kill your boyfriend’s body?” He threw back his head and laughed.

Theon gritted his teeth.

There was a bang on the door. Followed by yelling.

“We have to go,” Westerling said. “They’ll be able to solder through quickly enough.”

“What do we do?” Margaery looked from Euron to Theon to Westerling. “Do we…take him with us or…?”

Euron spread his arms wide, a clear invitation and challenge all in one. “You’re welcome to try.”

A roar filled the air, the sound of metal being cut away with heat.

“Give me the gun,” Margaery instructed. Westerling handed it over, but it was clear Margaery didn’t really know how to use it. For one, she held it in one hand, which caused her arm to shake. “Get. Out. Now.”

Euron smiled in amusement. “Really? You’re really going to shoot your friend? Talk about cutting your nose to spite your face.”

A line of red, molten metal appeared on the door.

“Go ahead. Shoot me. You’ll either kill me or wound me. Either way, your friend will suffer for it.”

The line of molten metal turned upwards, forming the edges of a hole. Theon could hear the voices outside now. No sign of a dog. Where was Jon? Where was his mind?

“We have to go,” Westerling said.

“No, we can’t—”

Theon was interrupted by the bark of a dog. Then someone screaming outside, cursing from the other guards.

“Jon!” Theon jerked to unlatch the door, but Westerling and Margaery held him back.

“Theon, you can’t!”

“They’ll shoot you if you go out there!”

“I don’t care!” He struggled against them. “I’m not leaving without—”

A gun fired.

A dog yelped.

Someone cursed and someone else said, “Nice shot.”

Theon went still in his friends’ arms.

Numbly he turned to Euron. To see if Jon’s mind would snap back and force his uncle’s out. Euron seemed to catch on, because he made a show of running his hands over his chest, as if feeling for any damage.

“Well, then,” he said, “I guess that solves that problem.”

“No.” Theon shook his head. He shook off Margaery and Westerling. Grabbed Euron by the collar of Jon’s shirt. “No, you need to leave so Jon can come back.”

“He can’t come back, you idiot! It’s my body now. Don’t know where his disembodied soul is now, probably on its way to whatever fruity afterlife, but I assure you…he’s not coming back.”

Theon tightened his grip. “If that’s true, I should just kill you.”

Euron shrugged. “You probably should.”

His arms shook as he stared into Euron’s eyes. The pale eye was gone. Did that mean Euron’s powers were gone too? Did it matter anymore? They both knew he wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t hurt Jon, not even if it was just a man wearing his face.

With a defeated sigh, he dropped his hands.

“Come on.” Westerling pulled him back by the shoulder. “We have to get out of here.”

He allowed them—Westerling and Margaery—to drag him along down the tunnel. He shot a glance back over his shoulder to see Aeron cowering at Euron’s feet.

 

***

 

It was dark when they emerged from the tunnel. Westerling had been right; it led out into a forested area. Without the lights from the city, the stars were stark in the sky. Snow-capped trees jutted up to greet them. Theon leaned his head back and let a long, steady stream of breath out through his mouth.

“What now?” Margaery hugged herself. She was, after all, still wearing the sleeveless dress she’d worn to lunch that day. And it was quite cold. Theon might have noticed. Except that he was too numb.

“We walk,” Westerling said. “There should be a ranger station about a mile from here.”

“Do you think you can make it?”

Theon didn’t realize Margaery was talking to him until she nudged him gently. He blinked and lowered his head. “Yes.” What other option was there? Wait here to either be caught or freeze to death? Did it matter anymore? Jon was gone. His body taken, his mind God knew where.

“Hey.” Margaery brushed a strand of hair behind Theon’s ear. “Jon’s not gone. Not really. He wouldn’t just fade away like that. I’m sure he’s still in there…out there somewhere.”

Theon nodded vacantly.

They limped through the snow. Out here in the woods, it was easily ten to twenty feet deep, but because it was so very cold, the top layers were crisp and hard. Easy for walking. They walked in silence for a long time.

“Thank you,” Margaery said softly, after what felt an eternity. “Uh…Westerly, was it?”

“Westerling,” the other woman said. “Jeyne Westerling. You can call me Jeyne.”

“Jeyne. How long had Euron been keeping you like that?”

“A few weeks,” she answered. “I was brought on from the hospital in town. They told me there would be exciting new job opportunities. When I found out what those opportunities were, I threatened to go to the police. The CEO didn’t take it too kindly.”

“The CEO?” Margaery asked.

“The man they introduced to me as Jon Walker III, but who I later found out was actually Euron Greyjoy. A mafia boss. Hiding his name for good reason. I was one of the first people he tried his powers out on, but luckily not the first. He turned _that_ man into a vegetable.”

“I wonder if he still has his powers,” Theon mumbled, so quietly that neither of them heard. Or else they were ignoring him. That was fine. He was content to stare up at the stars and continue to not feel a thing.

They walked for what _must_ have been miles. Everyone was silent until Margaery said, “We can’t go on like this. Theon’s hurt and no one’s dressed to stand this weather.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to project my mind and see if there’s any help nearby.”

“You shouldn’t go to sleep out here,” Jeyne said. “In this cold—”

Margaery held up a hand. “If it looks like I’m about to go under, wake me up.”

She settled in against a tree while Theon and Jeyne watched. Theon felt a sudden spike of dread as she closed her eyes and her body went limp almost immediately. _No, not you too. Don’t leave, don’t leave, come back…_ He had to restrain himself from shaking her awake.

“I’m sorry,” Jeyne said.

Theon’s head snapped around.

“About your friend.”

“Boyfriend,” he corrected hollowly.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated with the same cadence.  “I’m so sorry.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders. Grip perhaps a bit too tight, but she allowed it. Allowed him to bury his face in her chest and just…scream. In an instant, the numbness collapsed in on itself, leaving a raw angerhurthate behind.

Jon was gone. How could Jon be gone?

Jeyne held him while he wailed.

By the time the angersadness faded—slowly, much more gradually than it had come—his voice was raw and the both of them were on their knees in the snow. His pants soaked through. And she was just in her nurse’s uniform.

He felt tired and empty. Not numb. Empty.

He wished he’d killed Euron.

Jeyne had to let him go when Margaery began to stir. The two of them ran to her side, but she waved off their attempts to help. “Someone’s coming,” she hissed.

And no sooner had she said it then two headlights cut straight through the trees, headed their way. They all tensed as a snowmobile appeared, accompanied by the whining of the treads in the snow. The White & Walker name was plastered across the side.

It stopped short of them. With the engine still running, a man hopped out of the driver’s seat. He was bundled head to toe in winter gear, and he had to pull down his scarf to talk with them.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Jeyne aimed her gun at him. “Not a step closer.”

He held up his hands. Not exactly a surrender gesture, but more of a goodwill, I-come-in-peace gesture. “It’s okay. I’m a friend. My employer sent me to pick you up.”

“We’re not going back there,” Margaery announced.

“No, I mean…” The man glanced at the snowmobile. “I’m an infiltrator. Don’t have access to the lower levels, but when I heard the alarms going off…you lot have caused quite a stir, let me tell you.” He raised his hands and pulled off his ski mask to reveal…well, a perfectly unremarkable face underneath. Theon didn’t recognize him. “No, White & Walker didn’t send me. Daenerys Targaryen did.”

“Daenerys…?” Margaery shook her head at the name she couldn’t have recognized.

Theon recognized it, though, vaguely. “Drogo?” he asked. “Daenerys Drogo? The woman who was helping Jon?”

“Right.” The man craned his neck. “Where is Jon?”

“Gone,” Theon spat.

A look of sadness passed over the man’s face. The sort of sadness when you heard someone’s dog had died. “Shit.”

“I’m lost,” Margaery spoke up. “Who is this woman who was helping Jon?”

“Get in,” the man said, cocking his head to the cabin of the snowmobile. “I’ll take you to her. Your other friends are waiting.”

The three of them looked from one another, but mostly Jeyne and Margaery looked to him.

“Do you trust him?” Margaery asked.

Theon shrugged. “Not sure how much choice we have.”

“If he tries anything,” Jeyne said, “we could always shoot him and take his ride.”

Agreed, they all made their way to the snowmobile. The man pulled some blankets out from under the back seat. “Does anyone need emergency first aid?” he asked, looking over them in succession.

“I don’t think so,” Jeyne said. “But Theon needs medical treatment, and I’d wager that all three of us are suffering from hypothermia. The faster we can get to civilization, the better.” Her eyes rolled to the snowmobile’s clutch, a clear sign to _put a foot on it_.

The man nodded and clumsily hurried back into the driver’s seat.

The snowmobile lurched forward.

“What did you say your name was?” Theon asked.

“Oh, Mormont,” the man said over his shoulder. “Jorah Mormont.”


	29. Now: Firestarter

The snowmobile lurched to a stop not so different from the hundreds of acres around it. “This is the spot,” Grey Worm announced, consulting the tablet he used to communicate with Sam back at headquarters.

Jorah had picked them up in a snowmobile that, for all Theon knew, was the same one they’d escaped in that night. The White & Walker logo had been largely scraped off, though whether deliberately or just through natural wear, he couldn’t tell. The man himself looked to have aged thirty years in the past three months. Snow and ice collected in his scraggly beard.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes.” Grey Worm hopped out of the snowmobile and marched a few paces to ahead, then a few to the right. “These are the exact coordinates we were able to obtain. The entryway is right here.” He motioned with his eyes. “Under a fair bit of snow.”

Entryway. Last time they’d been here, it had been an exit.

“Better get digging,” Asha said.

“No need, dear,” Melisandre said. “I’ll take it from here.”

Asha glowered at her. “It was a _joke_ ,” she muttered as they all disembarked, though she gave her a wide berth all the same. 

Of course, most people gave Melisandre a wide berth, even when she wasn’t spewing fire from her fingertips. She was a scary woman. Even now, when it was easily forty below, she wore a long-sleeved dress the color of blood, but no parka, no gloves, no hat. She said her internal fires kept her quite comfortable.

While the remaining party gathered their weapons, Melisandre walked to the spot Grey Worm had indicated. She left smoking footprints in her wake. Theon didn’t have much in the way of weapons to gather, so he watched her instead.

“Here?” she said, pointing with one long fingernail.

Grey Worm nodded.

“Very well.” She let her chin loll forward onto her chest. Took a deep breath. Lifted her head, released the breath, and held her hands out in front of her. “You may want to step back.”

Without hesitating, Grey Worm turned and jogged back to the snowmobile. A moment later, the spot he’d been standing on erupted in flames.

The snow began to eat itself, the ice crystals melting away to reveal the layer beneath. And there would be many layers. The last time Theon had been here, the trees had been much taller. Now just the very tops peeked out from the snow.

“Okay,” Daario said, bringing everyone else into a conference ring as Melisandre worked, “here’s how things are going to go down. We’ll send Cersei in first, to stop any guards and their bullets. After her will be Belwas, to clear the way.” He patted Belwas’s ample stomach. “Nothing gets past this guy.”

Belwas grunted. He didn’t speak much, and the Westerosi he knew boiled down to either, “Yes,” “No,” or “Fuck you.” He nodded though, getting Daario’s gist.

“Once we’re all through the tunnel, we’ll regroup. We’ll be entering on Sublevel Two. We have no idea where Euron is, but his office is on the top floor. Is that correct, Theon?”

Theon nodded.

“We’ll look there, then. And I shouldn’t need to reiterate, but I will: Do not split up. We don’t know what sort of numbers we’re looking at in the way of opposition.  We don’t know how far along they are in their zombie-creating plan. For all we know, we’re busting into a compound lousy with undead super soldiers. Even living ones won’t be so great for us. So we’re going to use extreme caution. Understood?”

“Understood,” everyone murmured, except Belwas, who just grunted again.

Melisandre had melted about ten feet worth of snow. Theon wandered to the edge of the forming hole and watched the ice melt away. Asha came up beside him and pretended to watch as well for a few seconds.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” she asked.

Theon was silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he answered. “Jon’s in there.”

“I know.” She hitched up the rifle strap over her chest. “We’ll save your beau, yeah?”

“Or die trying.”

Instead of scowling and telling him not to think like that, she punched him playfully in the arm, the way she had when they were kids. “That’s the spirit.”

“Spirit,” Theon repeated with a laugh, and she laughed back, even though it could only be considered a joke in the loosest sense.

“Gods,” Ramsay said, “don’t try to be funny. You’re not funny.”

 

***

 

“You really think he’ll be happy to see you again after you ran and left him?” Ramsay was just a voice in the dark, whispering into his ear as they made their way through the tunnel.

“He was happy to see me last night,” Theon muttered, not really for Ramsay’s benefit.

“Well, yeah, because he didn’t think you’d come back for him. But once he starts to think about it, he’ll probably be pretty pissed. I mean, I know I’d be pissed if the guy who said he’d love me forever and ever just up and left me to rot in a bunker for three months. If it were me, I’d punch that guy’s fucking teeth out. But…that’s just me.”

“Jon’s not you,” Theon said.

“Who are you speaking with?”

Theon jumped.

It was Melisandre. Momentarily drained of her power, she hung back towards the end of the procession while she recharged. In the dim light from the flashlights up ahead, her skin was pale and ghostlike. She cocked her head, watching him with an indifferent expression.

“No one,” he answered, turning his head away.

He didn’t know much about her, other than she had found herself a part of Project Greenseer for “knowing too much.” She had been part of the big prison break when both Margaery and Cersei had been freed. Her codename had been Firestarter, for obvious reasons.

“You speak to the dead,” she stated. “How many are here now with us?”

“There are a lot of them around you,” he answered, truthfully. He had caught glimpses and whispers of them from her since he’d had the inhibitor turned off. “You’ve killed people before.”

“I’ve had people killed.”

“They don’t see the difference.” He wondered if he should tell her. “The Gods don’t really see a difference either.”

“There is only one God,” she said, a well-practiced recitation. “The Lord of Light knows that sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”

Ramsay snickered.

“You’re wrong.”

She chuckled and shook her head. She really must be the Mistress of Fire, because Theon could feel his blood burn. “I’ve spoken with Him. He came to me in visions, when I was a very young girl, and He told me about the sickness simmering under the surface of this world. And He told me what I must do.”

“She’s a nutter,” Ramsay laughed.

“Did _He_ tell you to kill children?” Theon snapped.

She stopped in her tracks.

“I’m sorry, _have children killed_. That’s the phrase you’d prefer, isn’t it? You want to dress it up, anything to get yourself off the hook. But you don’t know.” He shook his head. “Whatever your Lord of Light has promised you, whatever afterlife you think you’re getting for following His orders…” He jabbed a finger at his own chest. “ _I’m_ the one who talks to dead people. I’m the one who knows. What’s going to happen to both you and me. And it’s not…”

He trailed off, no longer able to articulate what he felt. He hadn’t told anyone this. Not Sansa or Margaery or Asha. It would only upset them. But Melisandre was a fellow sinner.

Of course, once the words were out, he wished he hadn’t said them.

She stared at him for a moment, a look of bewilderment in her eyes.

They’d stopped walking, and the flashlights grew farther and farther away, choking off their light.

“What afterlife do you think the Lord of Light promised me?” she asked coldly. “You think I do what I do for some _reward_?” Her hand went to her throat in what must have been a subconscious gesture. “My _reward_ is to purge this world of its sickness. To bring light where it is needed. Do I regret the things I’ve done? Yes.” She was fairly trembling. “Do I wish I could make amends with those I’ve hurt? Yes.”

She took a deep breath through her nose.

And just like that, the trembling ceased. She stiffened her back to hold herself at her full height, and the confident, if scary, woman was back once more. She strode past him. The whiplash of it all caught Theon off guard, and it took him several beats to snap out of it. Then he was hurrying to catch up with her.

“Who told you about the afterlife, boy?”

Theon bristled at being called that. “Someone who would know.”

“Have you seen this afterlife for yourself? Do your powers allow that?”

“No, but—”

“Is this _reliable_ source someone you knew in life?”

“Yes, but—”

“Someone who wished you ill?”

Theon gaped.

“Do spirits ever lie to you, Theon?”

“I…don’t know,” he admitted. He knew that they didn’t always tell the truth. Well, the objective truth. Joffrey Baratheon’s ghost, for instance, said that Tyrion had killed him, despite the latter’s insistence that he had not. But had any ghost ever outright lied to him? He couldn’t remember.

He caught a faint smile on Melisdanre’s profile. “Perhaps you should not be so quick to believe the dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: Something's come up on my end and I'm going to be super busy until May 1st, so apologies in advance for no new chapters until then. But after that, I'll be posting the eight-part, action-packed ending, so hope to see you back here for it.


	30. The End: Sublevel Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise. My business finished up a day early, and I'm passing the savings on to you!
> 
> A quick disclaimer: I don't know much about guns, and I haven't been around too many in real life. Everything I know comes from action movies and information from my gun nut friends, so if you see any wrong terminology/logistics, feel free to correct me in the comments.

Cersei went first. A second later there was a strangled noise. Jaime ran after her; Brienne ran after him. A second after that, they returned, dragging a body between them. A man dressed in nurse’s scrubs. His neck had been turned all the way around.

Theon hoped he hadn’t been like Jeyne, someone under Euron’s mind control. Jeyne had been able to snap out of it when Euron “died,” though. Which brought up another question he’d often considered during restless nights. Did Euron still have his psychic ability, even in Jon’s body? Or did he have Jon’s ability? Or neither?

Jaime and Brienne propped the body up against the wall of the panic room. It seemed much larger than when he, Margaery, and Jeyne had escaped this way, even though there were many more people crammed into the space now. The thick metal door had been fixed, a patch welded over the spot where security had tried to solder their way in. Theon looked at the yellow lines of the floor as Jaime picked at the nurse’s scrubs.

“Do we want to try some infiltration or…?”

Jorah shook his head. “They’ll be suspicious of the scrambled security feed as is. Once they realize all their cameras are down, they’ll probably look here first.” He stepped through the press of bodies and out into the hall, leading with his rifle. “We have a few minutes at best. We’d better hurry.”

They filed out of the panic room. Cersei was already far ahead. The sounds of her wrath carried through the narrow passageways. They came across two more dead bodies, both security guards, and a female nurse who seemed pretty dazed after leaving part of the back of her head on the wall. Theon knew that he probably shouldn’t feel sorry for her, and even if he should, he didn’t have the time.

From around the corner came a muffled cry of, “Freeze!” Followed by gunfire. Then screaming.

Then, most alarmingly, the painful shriek of rending metal.

Everyone ran with renewed haste. Cersei stood in the midst of blood-spattered bodies. Apparently she’d curved her attackers’ bullets around on them. The rending in question were a set of elevator doors. She wrenched them apart with her mind yet held out her hands, twisted and claw-like, as if she were physically forcing them open. The thick metal gave way with a sound so awful it thrummed through Theon’s sternum.

“You know,” Jaime offered, “you could have just pressed—”

Cersei jumped down into the elevator shaft.

“Or not,” Jaime grumbled.

“Where’s she going?” Asha scoffed. “Aren’t we supposed to be heading up?”

“She’s going after Sparrow,” Melisandre said.

Everyone turned to look at her, except for Belwas, who was looking down the shaft in consternation.

“I have no doubt,” Melisandre continued, with a wry grin, “that the surviving nurse we encountered remains so because she was able to tell Cersei what she wanted to hear.”

Jaime sighed.

Daario put his hands on his hips. “So…do we follow her or…?”

“I’m sure Cersei can take care of herself,” Brienne said with a snideness that Theon hadn’t heard from her before, but which he approved of nonetheless.

“Agreed,” Grey Worm said. “It’s more important that _we_ stick together. Let’s take the opportunity to regroup.”

They huddled together. Or, everyone who was important did. Theon hung back at the fringes. He didn’t have anything to contribute, after all. He was beginning to doubt why he’d come along at all. Surely anyone else here would be better at saving Jon. He was the most useless…

A chill ran up the back of his neck. So sudden that he jolted.

Asha looked up from the group huddle. “Theon?”

There were voices in his ear. Many of them. Talking over each other. But all saying the same thing.

“We have to follow her,” he said.

Grey Worm stopped whatever explanation he had been giving. “Yes?” No doubt in his voice. He wanted to know what Theon knew.

So Theon told them, as best he could through the flood of voices. “They’re doing something down there…with the bodies.” He had to put a hand on his head to concentrate. Gods, he’d forgotten how much it hurt to have them all crowding in like that. There must be…hundreds of them. “They’re…getting them ready to send out. We don’t have much time. They’re—the voices—they’re saying to go now, go now. They’re saying find…Dr. Maz Durr.”

A beat of silence followed.

“The dead people are telling you this?” Daario asked.

Theon nodded.

Daario nodded back. “That’s good enough for me. I say we find this Maz Durr bitch and put an end to whatever she’s planning.”

“Seconded,” Asha said. “But—” She looked skeptically at the elevator shaft. “If we’re going to follow Cersei, let’s at least use the stairs.”

 

***

 

It had been dead silent the last time he’d been down here, with Margaery, when Dr. Maz Durr had demonstrated her mad science. Now, a sort of low moaning sound echoed off the concrete walls. A noise that built in volume as they made their way, cautiously, down the hall.

“What is that?” Asha asked. “Some sort of…animal?”

“They keep the test animals on Sublevel One,” Grey Worm noted.

“They keep the dead bodies down here,” Theon finished his thought. All the doors leading off from the hallway were open. Just glancing inside was enough to see that the metal drawers had been pulled out, all of them. No bodies left now.

A set of double doors awaited them at the very end of the hall. “This way,” the voices in his ear said, though the moaning was beginning to drown them out.

Jaime couldn’t hear them, of course, but all the same he muttered, “Got a bad feeling about this.”

It was Belwas who took the initiative. He barreled forward, duel guns aimed ahead—despite Jaime’s earlier insistence that it was impractical to hold guns in such a way—and smashed his way through. The doors swung inwards, and a chorus of moans and snarls filled the air. Theon didn’t want to go in there, he didn’t, but he was done being a coward. He followed the others.

They found themselves in a loading bay. A dozen or so military-style humvees idled across a vast stretch of concrete. The drivers of these humvees were sprawled on the ground, their blood spattered across that concrete. A set of bloody footprints led to the culprit. Cersei had not spared a single one of them. It wasn’t the slaughtered drivers that was most concerning, though.

In the back of each humvee were a dozen blue-fleshed bodies, still very much alive. Animated, Theon corrected himself. The things in those jeeps were not alive. They gnashed their teeth, thrashed against chains that kept them from turning on each other. Probably why Cersei had not bothered with them. She hardly even seemed to notice they were there.

Her gaze was locked elsewhere, across the stretch of the parking garage, where the bay door was open. The roar of the wind outside was an eerie howl. Snow drifted in like waves from the ocean. As many parked vehicles as there were, there were many, many more empty spaces, and wet tire marks from where they’d been. Recently.

“Whoa,” Jaime said as they all took in the scene. The implication.

“I think the word you’re looking for,” Brienne said, “is _shit_.”


	31. The End: Sublevel One

“We’re too late,” Brienne hissed. “They’ve already dispatched the diseased bodies.”

“No, not too late.” Jorah jumped the five steps down to ground level and ran across the flat surface. “These tire tracks are recent. They couldn’t have left more than an hour ago.”

“Mole’s Town is about an hour from here,” Theon said. He didn’t realize he’d said that out loud until everyone turned to look at him.

“We have to go after them.” Brienne kicked them all into gear as she took off after Jorah. “We can’t let them let those _things_ —” She nodded with her chin to the snarling creatures in the jeeps. “—loose in a populated area.”

Cersei, too, seemed to snap out of whatever stupor she’d fallen into. At the sound of their hurried footsteps, she turned to face them. She looked about as human as the things in the back of those trucks. “My father tried to run as well.” Her hair whipped about her face, not entirely an effect of the wind. “I’ll show them what good _running_ does.”

She began to lift into the air. At that moment, Jaime broke into a sprint. With a flying leap, he spanned the distance between them and grabbed hold of her wrist.

She hissed. “Let me go!”

“You’ll just wear yourself out using your powers to chase after them,” he said, pulling her back. “Save your strength for when we need it.”

The curl went out of her lip, and she floated back to the ground. Then she wrenched her hand free of Jaime’s and singled in on Jorah. “You! Can you drive these trucks?”

“I…” Jorah stumbled at being addressed. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Cersei made a swipe with her hand, and the bodies in the nearest truck flew out. Chains snapped, and the creatures landed on the ground in front of them, a mass writhing to get to its collective feet and attack. A few even managed it, clawing their way out of the pile of bodies, mouths foaming, teeth bared.

One grabbed Asha by the ankle. She pulled out of its reach with a disgusted cry and fired point blank into its forehead. That dropped it dead. Again.

“Are you alright?” Brienne asked. “Did it scratch you?”

“No, I don’t think so. But what the fuck?” she yelled at Cersei.

Cersei rolled her eyes as she stepped around the still-moving bodies and up into the truck bed. The message was clear: _Let’s get moving_.

“Well, wait,” Asha said. “What about Euron?”

“We can’t worry about him now,” Daario said, hopping up to join Cersei and dispatching a few zombies along the way with shots to the head. “We have to head them off.”

Asha’s face turned into a disbelieving scowl as, one by one, the group followed Daario’s lead. “Nobody thinks that Euron might be able to…I don’t know, call off the entire operation? I say we stay here and cut the head off the snake.”

“We don’t even know that Euron is here,” Jaime said, keeping his voice diplomatic. Jaime, of all people, acting the diplomat. “He could be heading the operation on the frontline for all we know.”

Theon shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not in Jon’s body. Not with his bad leg.”

Jaime gave a long-suffering sigh. “Then…you stay here and ‘cut the snake’s head off’ or whatever.”

Brienne gave him a disapproving look. “We need everyone with us.”

“Not us,” Asha said. “I’m just a civilian and Theon…” She side-eyed him. “He’s not going to be of much use in a fight. Sorry, Theon, but it’s true.”

She didn’t need to apologize. He knew.

“We’ll stay here and stop my uncle. Greyjoy against Greyjoy. Keep it in the family.”

Brienne looked unconvinced, but finally relented. “Keep your channel open.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Asha said with a mock salute.

Jorah started up the jeep, revved the engine, and tore off across the parking lot. The humvee disappeared up the steep incline of the ramp and then into the whiteness of the winter storm beyond. Leaving Asha, Theon, and several still-alive zombies writhing impotently on the garage floor. Asha made quick work of them, and Theon flinched at every gunshot. Silence followed, only the wind roaring through the cavernous space.

“Alright,” Asha said. “Let’s get a move on.”

 

***

 

They made their way back down the hall, back to the stairwell. Nobody stopped them. Theon doubted there _was_ anyone left to stop them after Cersei had been this way. Euron would have bodyguards, Theon guessed, and with every stair they climbed, the greater became their chances of running into security Cersei hadn’t taken care of. Which was why Asha went ahead, sweeping her gun every time they made it to a new landing.

Theon was glad to have her, but he doubted her gun and rifle—let alone his own handgun—would be enough to take on an entire building of security guards. Perhaps they should have gone with the others. But no. He would be useless to them, just like Asha had said. And anyway…Jon was here.

They had just passed a landing marked Sublevel One when he froze. A different sound caught his ear. Not the whispering of dead voices or the snarling of reanimated corpses. This was familiar. He knew this noise, intimately. The barking of dogs.

“Asha, wait!”

She paused, half a stairwell ahead of him.

Theon pointed to the door. “Grey Worm said they keep the test animals on this floor.”

“So?”

“Jon.”

She lowered her weapon and came a few steps back towards him. “You think he jumped into one of the test animals?”

Theon thought back to his conversation with Jon last night. _When I wake up…I’m back in a little cage_.

He needed to get Jon out of that little cage.

He pushed the door in. A cacophony of animal noises—barking, squawking, howling—burst out onto the landing. Did one of those animal voices belong to Jon? He had to find out.

Asha ran to catch up with him. “How will you know it’s him?”

“I’ll know,” Theon said. If he acted confident, perhaps he would feel it.

They exited the stairwell and found themselves in another hallway. Endless hallways here. Fitting, a narrow space that only allowed for two options: keep going forward or head back. Theon kept going forward.

The first door they came to had a glass pane they could peer through to see rows and rows of stacked cages. The plaque read “Small Animals.” Asha put her hand noncommittally on the handle. “Do you think he came back as a mouse?”

Theon thought. He couldn’t be sure. Small cage, Jon had said, but that didn’t mean anything. Any cage was small to whatever it confined.

“I don’t…” He began to speak, but then stopped. “Do you hear that?”

Asha drew her brows together in concentration. “Not much over the barking.”

No, she had to hear it. Otherwise it was just one of the voices in his ears. “There’s someone…crying.” Whimpering, more like.

Asha cocked her head. “Y…eah,” she agreed. “I do hear it.” She abandoned the Small Animal room. “That’s definitely not an animal.”

They followed the strange sound two doors down. The plaque read “Dogs,” but when they peered in through the glass, they could see that not all of the cages were filled with dogs. One held a very human figure, curled up with its back to them. Hugging itself. Whimpering.

Asha pulled the door, and when it resisted, she stepped back and shot the lock. The person inside turned at the noise, eyes wide.

“Uncle Aeron?” Asha cried incredulously, running in. She set her gun down and knelt in front of the bars. He scooted away from her, tucking himself into the farthest corner. Just like he had last time. “Don’t worry,” Asha tried to coax. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

“He won’t listen to you,” Theon said.

Asha didn’t listen and instead began pulling on the padlock. That, predictably, didn’t do anything, so she stood and grabbed her gun. “Uncle Aeron, keep as far back as you can. I’m going to shoot the lock.”

He did, but not on her orders.

When the gun fired again, the dogs reacted. As one, they all whined and drew back farther into their own cages, tails tucked between their legs in surrender. One, however, threw itself against the bars, barking wildly.

Theon watched it, the strange humanlike quality in its eyes. It quieted as he knelt down to look at it closer.

“Jon?”

The dog barked.

The door to Aeron’s cage swung open, but Aeron didn’t seize his freedom. He continued to whimper as Asha reached in for him, grabbing one dangerously thin arm and dragging him out without much effort. “Please!” he begged. “He’ll hurt me, he’ll—”

“Aeron,” Theon said. “Uh…Damphair.” He remembered that his uncle had reacted to his codename when Jeyne had used it. “This dog—” He pointed. “—it’s not really a dog, is it?”

Both Asha and Aeron stopped their struggling to stare at him.

“Theon, what—?”

“I think I’ve found him,” Theon said. “I’ve found Jon. Asha, open this door. This one.”

“Alright, alright.” Without further question, she pulled out her gun and aimed. “Hey, dog, if you’re really Jon, you’ll understand when I say you need to step back from the bars.”

The dog did, and Asha shot.

The padlock fell off, but Jon didn’t wait for the door to open on its own. He burst out, into Theon’s waiting arms, and began licking his face. Theon laughed, then wrapped his arms around the furry neck and pulled Jon close. He didn’t smell like Jon at all. He smelled like dog. Theon didn’t care. He hugged tightly and cried into the dog’s coat. “I’m sorry, Jon. I’m sorry I left you. I’m here now. I’m here.”

Jon licked his ear.

“Aeron,” Asha said, “can you put Jon back in his body? His real body?”

Theon didn’t hear a response, so he lifted his head to see Aeron shaking his head. Such a small movement, it might have just been the trembling of his body, but the answer was the same either way: No.

“You can’t?” Asha said. “Or you won’t?”

He continued to answer-not-answer.

Theon gripped Jon’s fur tightly in his fists. “Damphair!” He staggered to his feet, not feeling terribly imperious but delirious with the need to be in this moment. Aeron was beyond reasoning with; he would only follow orders. “You need to put Jon back in his body.” He took a drunken step forward. “You need to do it now.”

Aeron flinched. “Can’t.”

“Can’t?” Theon reiterated.

“Body…can’t.”

“You’re saying you can’t,” Asha began hesitantly, “because…Euron is using Jon’s body.”

Using Jon’s body. God, Theon didn’t to think about what Euron had been _doing_ with Jon’s body all this time.

Aeron nodded timidly.

“Could you do it,” Theon continued, “if Euron wasn’t there? If he were unconscious?”

Aeron didn’t respond.

“Dammit,” Asha hissed. “Did Euron lobotomize him? It’s like talking to a two-year-old.”

“He’s not doing it on purpose!” Theon snapped. “It’s his way of coping. If you’d ever been given the choice between pain and _more_ pain, maybe you’d shut down too.”

 Asha clamped her mouth shut.

Theon wished he hadn’t yelled at her. She didn’t deserve to be yelled at. But this wasn’t about what anyone deserved. This was about what needed to be done.

Jon couldn’t get back into his body while someone else was occupying it. But what if there was an empty body just lying around? Theon could let him in, just like he had with all the ghosts he’d let in. Just like he had with Reek.

He grabbed Aeron’s shoulders. The tattered hospital gown gave way under his grasp to the sharpness of bones beneath. “What if I wasn’t using my body? Could you put Jon’s mind into me?”

“Theon, what are you—?”

“Could you do it!?” Theon yelled over Asha’s protest.

Aeron’s thin neck bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes.”

“Then do it. I order you to, Damphair!” He took a breath and lowered his voice. “Uncle Aeron.”

Aeron stared at him with yellowed eyes. And nodded his head. Just a single nod.

Theon breathed a sigh of relief and allowed his mind to slip free of his body. Even though he hadn’t done it in well over a year, somehow it felt like coming home.


	32. The End: Top Floor

“Theon? Theon! Goddammit, can you hear me?”

Jon opened his eyes blearily. A face swam into focus overhead.

He reached out for it with a hand.

Hands.

_Human. You’re a human. And you have hands._

Someone swatted his outstretched hand aside. “Theon! Answer me!”

He knew that face. The name came to him from what felt like a lifetime ago.

“A…sha?”

“Shit.” She turned away from him. “Switch them back!” She didn’t get a response, but a moment later she was back, bearing over him. “Jon, listen to me, okay?” Hands clamped on either side of his face. “You’ve got to bring Theon back, alright?”

“Theon,” he repeated.

“I swear, we’ll get your body back. But if you stay in there too long, you’ll both die. So, you’ve got to bring my idiot brother back. Quickly.”

“I…’m not sure I can.” He tried to reach out with his mind. It was the only thing he could think of. But he didn’t know where Theon _was_. “I can’t find him.” He tried again. Animals. He could feel their minds, vaguely. But no Theon. “I can’t find him!”

He became aware that he was on his back, on a cold tiled floor. He tried to sit up, fought against her effort to hold him down.

“Where’s Theon? Where is he? I can’t find him!”

“Easy, Jon, easy. You’re only going to hurt him thrashing around like that.”

Hurt him?

He caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned, but it was only himself, reflected back in the shiny surface of the metal cage. That face. Not his own, not the one he remembered, but one he knew well. The face he’d clung to, trying to retain his humanity as the dog fought to take over. After so long of seeing black and white, the sea-colored eyes that looked back at him were the most vivid color he’d ever seen.

“Theon,” he breathed. Fingers traced the cold metal, along the gaunt outlines of Theon’s face. “ _I’m_ Theon.”

“No, you’re Jon.” Asha hauled him into a sitting position. “You remember that, right? God, please tell me your brain isn’t addled from spending three months as a dog. I’m already dealing with _one_ basket case.”

Jon put a hand to his forehead.

Hand.

“I remember,” he said.

“Good.” She knelt in front of him, hands held out like a coach explaining the next football maneuver to her team. “Because right now, we need to figure out a way to get you back to where you belong so _Theon_ can come back to where _he_ belongs.”

Theon. He was gone. He needed to come back.

“Euron,” he said. “We need to get Euron out of my body.”

“Right.” She stood. “Just like musical chairs, only with bodies.” She turned to the other person in the room. Sitting up, Jon had a better look at him. Theon had called him Uncle Aeron, but the staff only ever called him Damphair. They’d thrown him in with the dogs several weeks ago. “You,” Asha said to him now. “Since you like taking orders so much, I’m going to _give_ you some orders.”

She grasped the front of his tattered hospital gown. He whimpered but didn’t try to pull away or anything.

“You can’t put Jon back in his body because Euron’s in there now, right?”

Aeron/Damphair nodded.

“But what if Euron was unconscious? Could you do it then?”

A moment passed as the man’s eyes rolled in his head, as if searching for the correct answer on the floor, then on the walls, then on the ceiling. At last, he nodded again with a whispered, “Unconscious.”

“Good. We’ll take care of that. Once Euron’s light it out, you are going to put Jon back in his body, aren’t you?” She tightened her grip on his gown. “Aren’t you?”

He nodded.

She didn’t look convinced, but released her grip. “Good.”

She turned to Jon and held out a hand. He gripped it, and she pulled him to his feet. Blood rushed from his head, and he staggered against the dizziness.

“Please tell me you can walk.”

“I think so?” It had been a while since he’d walked on two legs. And he was used to _his_ legs, after all. On the one hand, Theon didn’t have a bum knee. On the other hand, it felt like driving a car that didn’t belong to him. A very expensive car the original owner had trusted him enough to drive. He took a few steps, and the darkness cleared from his vision. “Yeah, I’m good,” he reassured her as his knees wobbled.

“Good,” Asha repeated in the same tone she’d used with Aeron. “Because we’ve got company.”

Jon followed her gaze to the door to see the dark figures on the other side of the glass. At least six security guards, all armed no doubt.

“Can you shoot?”

Asha’s eyes flickered to his waist, to the sidearm holstered at his hip, he realized. He took it out. Personal handgun, not much in the way of firepower but suitable for self-defense. “Once a cop, always a cop,” he replied.

That seemed to appease Asha as she reached for her own gun. “Let’s go play a round of musical chairs.”

 

***

 

Jon was pushed to his knees, the muzzle of a gun to his head.

Despite Asha’s one-liner, the ensuing firefight had not gone well.

For one, his marksmanship wasn’t as good as he remembered, though whether that was due to rustiness or the strange feeling of Theon’s body, he couldn’t say. Either way, he’d only managed to get a few shots in before they’d grabbed him, wrestled the gun out of his hand, and handcuffed his hands behind his back.

It looked like Asha had managed to kill one and wound another, and continued to fire off shots even when she took a taser to the shoulder. Tough lady. Not for the first time did Jon think she would have made a good cop, if she didn’t hate cops on principle. She roared in outrage when her gun jammed, tossing it aside and flinging herself bodily at the guards. They took her down just as easily as they’d taken Jon.

Aeron had run back to his cage. The guards dragged him out and had him kneel next to Jon and Asha.

“Mr. Walker has ordered you to be taken alive,” one of the guards—perhaps the head of security from the authority in his voice—announced, confirming what Jon suspected. It would have been far easier to kill the lot of them. “More’s the pity.” The guard looked at the dead body sprawled on the floor. “Have that cleaned up and taken to Sublevel Three. The rest of you, help me escort the prisoners to Mr. Walker’s suite.”

Three guards got the prisoners to their feet, while the remaining two dragged the body away, muttering darkly. Having lost partners and co-workers during his time as a cop, Jon was surprised by their reaction, as if disposing of their friend’s body were merely a chore. They had done this sort of thing before. Perhaps many times.

Asha laughed as she watched them go. “Whatever my uncle’s paying you, it’ll be worthless when every other person is a walking corpse.”

The lead guard didn’t reply, just motioned for the guards to follow him. Asha went without protest. She must have figured out what Jon had: They were being taken right where they wanted to go.

They got into an elevator, and the lead guard took out a special key from the ring on his belt. He slid it into the control box and pressed the number for the top floor. Jon felt an odd thrill, like déjà vu. This seemed familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place. Almost as if the memories of it were not his own.

_Theon_ , he thought. _Are you there?_

No answer.

The elevator rose in silence. Aeron whimpered, but other than that, no one made a sound. The ding as the elevator reached its destination broke the awkwardness, and the guards hurried to push them out once the doors had opened.

Now, this particular hallway _was_ something from Jon’s own memories. They didn’t head for “Mr. Walker’s” office, though. Not this time. Instead they were led to the very far end of the hall, where a set of gilded double doors awaited them. From the intricate embossing of the doors to the claw-like handles, it all looked very out of place in the otherwise modern office building.

Mr. Walker’s suite.

There was an intercom box outside the door. The lead guard pressed the white dial button on the console and leaned forward to speak into it. “Ser, we have them.”

No answer, but the man immediately stepped back.

They waited.

One second.

Two.

The doors cracked open and Jon found himself looking at…himself.

Like looking into a mirror, Jon lifted a hand to his face to see if the image staring back at him would do the same. It didn’t. Instead he stared back with two grey eyes; the pale one was gone. He was dressed in a gold bathrobe, like some sort of playboy, hair slicked back against his head. _I swear to the Old Gods and the New, if he’s cut my hair…_

“Good job,” he said with Jon’s voice.

Jon must have had an incredulous expression on his face, because Euron smiled.

“What’s wrong, nephew? You seem surprised to see me.”

Nephew? Jon glanced down at his hands. Yes, right. He was wearing Theon’s body. But Euron didn’t know that, apparently.

Euron mistook his downward glance. “Oh, come now, don’t be shy.” He strode forward with a noticeable limp. Too proud for a cane perhaps? He cupped Jon’s cheek. “I expected your sister, of course.” He nodded to Asha, who bared her teeth at him. “But I must admit I’m surprised to see you here. I guess, even at its weakest, Greyjoy blood doesn’t give up.”

Jon glowered. “You have no idea.”

Euron cocked his head. “You do a remarkable impression of our late Jon Snow. I wonder, is he here now? Does he keep you company along with Ramsay Snow?”

Jon gritted his teeth. “He’s here.”

Euron grinned and patted his cheek. “Well, tell him I said hi.” He turned to the guards. “You can bring them in.”

The guards did, urging them through the doors and into the lavishly decorated suite inside. Everything—the curved sofa, the breakfast bar, the dining table—radiated outwards from a circular fire pit, like a nautilus shell. An enormous window provided a view of what would have been pristine mountains and forests in summer; now it showed only endless white. Several thick poles held the ceiling aloft. Perfect for chaining them in place.

Once the guards had finished handcuffing the last of them—hands behind back, arms wrapped awkwardly around the poles—Euron waved his arm. “That will do. You’re dismissed.”

The lead guard balked. “Dismissed, ser?”

“You heard him,” a feminine voice said. Jon recognized Falia as she emerged from what had to be the suite’s bedroom. She cinched the belt of her matching gold bathrobe as she walked, hips swaying over-exaggeratedly, the neckline plunging to show the swell of her breasts. Her hair was tousled. Jon didn’t want to think about what the two of them had been doing in that bedroom, with his body. “You’re _dismissed_.”

The guards look at each other.

“Leave us,” Euron said in a dangerous voice. “Or do dead men take orders better?”

The guards began backing away immediately, though Jon noted that they hadn’t done it automatically. _What’s the matter, Euron? Can’t use your power now that you’re not in your body?_

“As you wish, ser,” the lead guard said with a smart salute. “All the items we confiscated from them are in a box on the counter.” He nodded to the bar, then paused. “Just…call if you need anything.” Then he turned and just as smartly left.

His boots rang out on the hardwood floor, and the doors slammed shut behind him with a thunderous slam.

Falia squealed and clasped her hands. “Are we going to have _fun_ , Euri? We didn’t really get to play with your nephew, and now your niece is here too.”

“Maybe later,” Euron replied. “But for now, I want you to go back in the bedroom and wait for me.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on, Euri. It’s been so boring around here since—”

Jon was caught off guard when Euron backhanded her. She stumbled back, hand to her face, looking startled.

“Do the dead take orders better than the living?” Euron said, flexing his hand. “Get your ass back in the bedroom and wait until I call for you.” He turned back to his captives, a gleeful glint in his eye. “The four of us have family business to discuss.”


	33. The End: Suite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Euron bein' Euron.

Jon felt Theon’s heart beating madly in his chest. He couldn’t tell if his fear was his own…or Theon’s. When he was in an animal’s body, he could sense their instincts, their animal understanding of a situation. Was it the same with Theon?

_Please, Theon, if you’re there, come back_.

No answer.

Euron paced back and forth, a thoughtful hand on his chin. He was contemplating where to start. _Who_ to start with.

“Brother.”

Aeron crumpled on the ground.

“It’s alright, brother.” Euron bent down next to him. “I know you weren’t trying to run away. It was these ingrates. You fought to stay with me, didn’t you?”

Aeron nodded furiously.

“Good, that’s very good.” Euron petted his head. “Perhaps I’ll reward you for your loyalty. Would you like to play with me and Falia again?”

Aeron whined low in his throat.

“Later, perhaps. I’m going to deal with our niece and nephew. You’re going to be very quiet, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good.” Euron gave his head another pat then stood and walked to Jon. “Nephew.”

Jon met his stare.

“I really am glad to see you again.” He stepped forward; Jon tried to step back, but his back only met with the pole. “I should thank you. For introducing me to Project Greenseer and Jon Snow. For acting as the bait to get him here. Perhaps I should even thank you for putting that pen through my throat. It set things into motion much faster than I anticipated, but, hey, everything worked out.”

He stroked Jon’s cheek with the back of his fingers. Jon shuddered as his own gray eyes swept over the body he was currently inhabiting.

“Did you know, before I decided on Jon, I was going to use you? But then you ended up in the hospital, in a coma for two days. Barely survived, according to your medical reports. That’s when I knew it couldn’t be you. Ramsay inadvertently saved you by exposing your powers’ weakness.” He tapped Jon’s temple. “Can’t keep anyone in here for too long. I had to look for someone else who could separate their mind from their body.”

Jon felt a numb nausea. Euron had chosen him for this? It was part of his plan all along?

“Leave him alone,” Asha snarled from the next pole over.

“I’ll be with you in a minute, dear niece,” Euron sang back. His words were light, but his tone suggested he did not appreciate being interrupted.

He took a deep breath and slipped his mask back on.

“I’ll be honest, when I woke up in this body, I was a bit concerned the same would happen. You didn’t give us enough time to determine if it would work or not. We had originally planned to test the procedure on Ms. Tyrell. _That_ would be interesting now, wouldn’t it? But I’m glad things worked out the way they did.” He ran his hands over his own chest. “I rather don’t mind this body so much.”

“Wh-what have you been doing?” Jon hoped the quavering of his voice would be interpreted as fear, rather than the seething rage it was. “What right do you have to use my—Jon’s body like that?”

Euron chuckled. “Because it’s mine now.” He leaned in even closer, jamming a knee between Jon’s legs. “Would you like to reacquaint yourself, nephew? For old times’ sake?” His breath was hot and sweet, and Jon turned his head. “No? I can be quiet while Jon Snow’s ghost whispers in your ear. Then it will almost be like it’s really him.”

“Leave him alone, you cocksucker!” Asha hollered.

Euron rolled his eyes and pulled back. “Asha,” he said. “Little Asha. I’m _trying_ to have a conversation with your brother.”

“You’re trying to fuck with his head. Don’t fall for it, Theon.”

Jon looked over at her, caught her quick wink. Couldn’t really decode it, though.

“Ah, I guess you’re too smart for me, niece.” He pulled away from Jon and lurched drunkenly at Asha. She tensed as he grabbed hold of her jaw. “Always so smart, so clever, little Asha. But what about you? You must appreciate my new body. You like your _men_ on the pretty side. ‘S why you were always hovering around that errand boy…what was his name, Qarl?”

“Yeah,” Asha said, matching his tone, “I fucked him. What of it?”

Euron laughed. “Well, it’s good to see some balls from the next generation of Greyjoys. Thought they’d all died out, along with your older brothers.” His hand went from her face to her throat and just rested there, gentle, a waiting threat.

She squirmed against him. A natural reaction, Jon thought, until he saw the movement of her shoulders. She was…doing something. Working the handcuffs behind her back.

“But you can be honest with me, Asha. You’ve fantasized a time or two about your brother’s boyfriend, haven’t you?” His hand continued down her body. “You thought about what it might be like to be with him. Well...now’s your chance.”

Abruptly, he grabbed her through her cargo pants. She gasped in shock.

Eruon grinned. Grinned with Jon’s face. Grabbed with Jon’s hand.

“What do you say, little Asha?”

“I say…” She squirmed one last time and pulled her arms free; the cuffs clattered on the floor. “Fuck you!”

A look of shock passed over his face the millisecond before her fist connected with his jaw. Then he was reeling backwards, falling to the ground. Asha chased her attack with a kick to his stomach, courtesy of her combat boot. Euron gasped as the air rushed from his lungs. Jon winced in sympathy; after all, it was his body taking the beating.

Asha was relentless, kicking and hitting, until Euron managed to get his feet under himself again. Jon knew from experience that, even though his knee was bad, his body was strong enough to take Asha one on one. And it did. Euron fought back, landing a punch to Asha’s solar plexus that had _her_ reeling.

If she’d had her gun, it would have been a sure thing. But it had been taken from her. As it stood, Jon knew her odds of taking her uncle bare-handed were probably less than fifty-fifty at this point. She needed another body in there to help her tip the scales.

He searched around desperately. How had Asha managed to slip her cuffs? He looked to where she’d been chained. There were the cuffs and…there! A bobby pin.

_I guess Ygritte’s not the only one who knows how to picks locks that way_ , he thought.

He might be able to reach it. If he could…

Asha grunted as her legs were swept out from under her. Her skull made a crack as it met the hardwood floor.

Shit, the tide of battle was turning faster than Jon had estimated.

He lowered himself to the floor and reached out with his foot, using as much slack from the cuffs as he could gather to reach for the pin. The tip of his shoe just barely brushed it.

Euron climbed on top of her and wrapped his hands around her neck. He laughed, cackled as he slammed her head into the floor again and again. “Maybe I’ll fuck your corpse before I send it out into the field.”

Jon pulled against his restraints. They dug into his wrists, cutting.

Asha’s face was red, quickly turning to purple. Her hands scrabbled at his as she tried to break his choking grasp.

“You’re a fighter, Asha. You’ll spread my plague well. In fact, maybe I’ll lock you in a room with your brother, have him be your first infectee. Would be the best thing you’ve ever done for him.”

The treads of Jon’s shoe caught the pin. He pulled it back, awkwardly working it around the pole so he could grab it with his hands. Which fumbled as he tried to pick the lock without seeing what he was doing.

Asha’s arms went limp, her eyes rolled back in her head, but Euron continued to throttle her. “Did you brother ever forgive you for leaving him to rot in that underground prison for a year and a half? In the end, I guess you’re just as useless as him. You dumb—”

He was so caught up in his assured victory that he didn’t hear the click of Jon’s cuffs. Didn’t see Jon approach. But he did feel Jon’s fist to the back of his head.

Jon was surprised by the lack of power behind Theon’s punch, but it was enough to knock Euron off of Asha. She didn’t immediately get up, but unless Euron had done some real damage to her throat, she would revive quickly as air flowed to her lungs again. Another thing Jon had learned during his time as a cop: strangling people to death was not as easy as they made it look in the movies.

He didn’t have time to wait for Asha to recover, though. He threw himself at Euron, pinning him to the floor by surprise alone. Euron wriggled underneath him, threatening to buck him. So Jon played dirty. Maybe Euron thought that three months in his body was enough to know it, but Jon knew what would hurt the most. He brought his knee down on the bad leg, the one Ramsay had shattered.

Euron howled in pain. It was satisfying.

While Euron screamed and clutched at his knee, Jon punched his unguarded face. Again and again. Red spattered across Jon’s knuckles. He punched, using all the force he could muster in Theon’s arms. Punched and punched until someone grabbed his arm and wrestled him off. He fought back, kicking out, until he saw Asha’s face.

“You’ll kill yourself,” she said.

Jon looked over. Euron wasn’t moving. He hadn’t even noticed.

She let go of him. “Alright,” she said, striding over to Aeron, “fucker’s out like a light. Put Jon back in his body.”

Aeron stared at her.

“Hurry!” she snapped. “We don’t have much time.”

Aeron huddled against the pole.

Jon stood. Stumbled over to Euron’s body— _his_ body—and grabbed him by the collar of his bathrobe. Dragged him across the slick hardwood floor and dropped him in front of Aeron. “Look,” he said, giving it a kick in the ribs for good measure. “He’s not there. He can’t hurt you.”

Aeron eyed the body warily, then Jon.

“You can get rid of him. Send him someplace where he’ll never hurt you again.” Jon lowered himself down to Aeron’s level. “But you need to do it now.”

Aeron whined.  “I…can’t.”

“You’re the only one who _can_. It’s got to be you and it’s got to be now.”

“But he’ll—”

“Not if you do it first,” Jon interrupted. He pointed at the lifeless body. “You can either kill him as Aeron Greyjoy, or you can live the rest of your life as Damphair. That’s your choice. But you’ve got to make it now.”

Aeron’s voice broke with a sob. “No, I’m not—my name isn’t—I’m _not_ …” His eyes snapped open. “Do it,” he said. “Jump. I’ll guide you. Do it. Do it now!”

Jon wasn’t sure how much he trusted this man, or how much Aeron trusted him. For all he knew, if he jumped, he’d end back in a dog again, or a rat this time, or a cockroach. The two of them didn’t really have any reason to trust each other—just like when he’d first met Theon, a runaway convict. It had been a leap of trust then, to help him. Theon had brought the most terrible things into his life…but also the most wonderful.

And this was the only way he’d ever see Theon again.

So he trusted.

He jumped.


	34. The End: Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you think I should put a rape/non-con tag on this fic, since hereon out we'll be dealing with the aftermath of Euron using Jon's body without his permission.

Theon opened his eyes. He didn’t have any sense of time passing, not when he was in the void, but they were no longer in the lab, so something must have happened while he was out. There were wooden beams overhead and the roar of a fire somewhere else and Asha was waving a hand in front of his face. “Theon?”

He smiled. “You did it, Jon.”

Asha breathed in what looked like relief. “You’re back, I take it?”

“I’m back. Where’s—?”

“Not awake yet,” Asha said, helping him to sit up. She motioned with her chin to the prone body lying not more than a foot away. “He gave himself quite a beating. Er…that sounds a bit rude, doesn’t it?”

“When have you ever worried about being rude?” Theon got to his hands and knees and crawled the distance to Jon’s body.

“Don’t get too close,” Asha warned. “He’s out now, but we can’t be sure _who_ will wake up.” She cast a speculative glance at Aeron, who was rubbing his thins wrists.

Come to think, Theon found his own wrists hurt a bit too. He examined the red marks curiously. “You’ll have to explain everything that happened while I was out,” he said. But not right now. Right now he needed to hold Jon. Ignoring Asha’s suggestion, he cradled the head with its familiar dark curls in his lap.

Asha had been right. Jon had done a number on his own face. He had a split lip, probably a broken nose too. His face was a bloody mess, but so beautiful. After thinking he’d never see it again, it was more beautiful than he remembered.

Jon began to stir.

“Theon,” Asha warned.

But Theon wasn’t worried. He knew, even before Jon opened his eyelids, exactly whose eyes he would be looking into.

And he was right.

Grey eyes looked up at him. Startled at first, but then softening as they focused on Theon.

“Theon?”

“Jon?”

No harm in checking.

Jon reached up a hand. Theon took it.

Jon laughed. Not Euron’s laugh. His own awkward laugh, broken by a hiccup. “I didn’t know what had happened to you,” he said. “I didn’t know if you’d escaped with Margaery or…”

“I escaped,” Theon said. “And I came back for you. I’m sorry it took me so long. I—”

Jon brought his free hand up and placed his fingers against Theon’s lips. “Shh,” he said. “My head is killing me right now.”

He laughed. Theon laughed.

Then they were bending to meet each other with their lips. Theon tasted blood on his tongue, but that didn’t stop him. It couldn’t stop him. It felt like any minute now he could wake up and realize everything up to this point had been part of the dream Jojen had shown him. He needed to make it real by touching it, tasting it.

Asha, perhaps sympathetic to their reunion, allowed them a few seconds before coughing awkwardly. “I really hate to interrupt,” she said, not sounding it, “but we’ve got some rather pressing matters to take care of.”

They pulled apart, but not too far apart, their breaths mingling. “She’s right,” Theon admitted. “My uncle has an army of dead soldiers heading for Mole’s Town. We have to stop them before they let them loose on the population, or else…”

Jon looked at him, not understanding.

“It will be bad,” Asha finished. “We’re talking a flesh-eating cannibal disease, quarantine, military intervention. Best case scenario, we get it under control with only a few thousand dead. Worst case…” She shrugged as she pulled her gun out of the confiscation box. “End of the world, just like our dear nuncle wanted.”

Theon heard cold laughter in his ear. _You’re dead_ , he thought. _You can’t hurt Jon anymore, and even if I have to see you again in hell, I’m going to make sure your plan fails before I do._

“They don’t know Euron is gone,” Theon said. “We can use that to our advantage. Jon, you have to pretend to be my uncle and call off the trucks.”

Jon nodded shakily. “Yeah.”

“We’ll have to find a way patch you through to them,” Asha said. “There should be something around here, some way Euron was disseminating orders. A phone or a walkie-talkie or…”

“You look out here,” Theon said. “I’ll go check the bedroom.”

“Wait!” Jon grabbed his sleeve as he tried to pull away. “Don’t leave me?”

Theon sighed in what he hoped was affectionate exasperation. “Maybe we can get you cleaned up and dressed in the bathroom while we’re at it.”

Jon felt the bridge of his broken nose and winced. Yeah, there wasn't much they could do about that. Hopefully all they needed was his voice to give orders; they’d have a difficult time explaining why their boss’s face had been pummeled in.

Theon helped him sit up, then stand.

“I—my leg.” Jon wobbled, even with Theon propping him up.

“I got you,” Theon said, holding him tight. “I’ve got you.”

“Take this too,” Asha called, handing them a gun from the confiscation box. “Don’t know how much a threat Ms. Sex Bunny is without her muscle, but you never know.”

“Ms…?” Theon blinked in confusion.

“Falia Flowers,” Jon explained with a grim expression. He took the gun from Asha’s hand. “We have unfinished business, her and I.”

They opened the bedroom doors to a shrill squeal and a thump. The figure on the bed rolled over the side of the mattress, tangled in silk sheets. Falia’s head appeared over the side, wide-eyed. “Eu-Euri?”

“Afraid not.” Jon aimed the gun with one slightly unsteady hand; the other was wrapped over the back of Theon’s neck for balance.

She blanched and tried to draw the covers more tightly around herself, as if that would provide any sort of protection against Jon’s wrath. Or a bullet. “Jon, I—I’m sorry. It wasn’t me. I didn’t have anything to do with—it was Euri’s plan, I swear.”

“And was it _Euri’s_ plan that you should violate my body while I was away?”

Theon knew exactly what Jon felt. Knew what it was like to wake up and learn that somebody had been _doing things_ to your body while you were out. He shuddered in repulsion at the memories of Reek.

Falia swallowed, a noticeable bob in her thin throat. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“How many times have you heard that?” Jon asked. “How many times have you ignored similar pleas from others? You think my memory is so short that I don’t remember seeing you tormenting Theon, _my boyfriend_ , on camera to blackmail me into coming here? Or was that all _Euri’s_ plan too?”

She was silent a moment, trembling. Then, slowly, she pulled an arm free of her swaddling and laid it on her stomach. “I…I’m pregnant.”

Theon felt Jon lurch as his side before quickly re-aiming his gun. “You’re lying!”

She shook her head frantically. “No, you can see for yourself. The pregnancy test is on the bathroom counter.”

“I have a hard time,” Theon said, “imagining my uncle as a father.”

“We were…” She hiccupped as tears began welling in her eyes. More from fear than any real repentance, he was willing to bet. “Euri was going to…have Damphair…” She trailed off.

“What?” Jon demanded. “Transfer his mind into the baby’s?”

Falia nodded, looking less like Ms. Sex Bunny and more like Timid Country Mouse.

“Is that what the Long Night Contingency is? Euron’s demented plan for…long life? Immortality?”

“It wasn’t my idea!” she squealed. “I would never—”

“Quiet!” Jon growled. “I would kill you.” He dropped the gun. “You should thank the baby whose life you were going to take.”

“Jon,” Theon said, noticing his boyfriend had started to slip in his grasp.

“It’s mine, Theon,” Jon breathed. “Even if I didn’t ask…it’s mine.”

“We’ll figure it out later.” Theon kissed his forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything my uncle’s done for you. I’m sorry for getting you involved.”

Jon just kind of hung limply in his arms for a moment. “The last thing I want is for you to apologize for anything your uncle has done. He used us. Both of us. And hundreds of other people.” He let out a long, weary breath, and Theon was aware that he was still bleeding from his busted lip and nose. “We’ll figure it out later,” he repeated. “For right now, we have to find a way to get in contact with those trucks.”

 

***

 

Falia showed them how to call the trucks. Not willingly. She might have thought her condition would get her off the hook from physical threats, but it turned out Asha was not above threatening a pregnant woman. “Don’t need your arms or legs working to give birth,” she’d noted, after which Falia had whole-heartedly shown her to the radio system Euron kept under the bar, disguised by a liquor shelf.

Her reward was being cuffed to one of the poles and forgotten about. For the moment.

Theon knew they would have to deal with her, the complication she’d thrown into Jon’s recovery. The child growing inside of her was a product of rape, no mincing words. Both she and Euron had conspired to use Jon’s body, and both deserved to die for it, in Theon’s opinion. But the child…

Jon had always talked about wanting kids. If Theon were being honest with himself, he’d always feared that Jon would leave him. Realize he was too good for Theon Greyjoy’s damaged goods, find himself a nice girl to have beautiful babies and live happily ever after with. It was what he deserved, after all. Not…not this.

The radio crackled as Jon leaned into the mouthpiece. “A-attention,” he began. He drew back to wet his dry lips and tried again. “Attention, this is Euron Greyjoy. I’m recalling all trucks en route to Mole’s Town. Repeat, recalling all trucks en route to Mole’s Town. Return to headquarters for debriefing.”

He leaned back and they all waited for a reply.

Which never came.

Just more crackle.

“This is Euron Greyjoy,” Jon repeated. “Come in. Do you read me?” He looked to them, from Asha to Theon, then added, “Over?”

Still nothing.

“Let me call our people,” Asha offered. “Maybe they caught up with the convoy.” Everyone waited with bated breath as she pressed the button on the side of her own walkie-talkie. “This is Asha Greyjoy. Do you read me?”

The hiss of static.

“Not the best time, Greyjoy,” Daario’s voice came back.

“Can you give me an update?”

“Yeah.” Somewhere on the other side of the line, a gun fired. “The end of the fucking world has begun.”


	35. The End: Underway

Two Hours Ago

 

“Keep your channel open,” Brienne instructed.

“We’ll be in touch,” Asha replied back with a mock salute.

Daario watched her in the rearview mirror as the jeep rumbled away. He had to admit he held a certain grudging respect for her: a woman who knew what she wanted and went for it, even if it happened to be the woman Daario already had his intentions on. She was a worthy rival, and he hoped she didn’t die on her foolish mission.

He wished the same thing for himself.

The truck plunged into the winter wasteland beyond the safety of the garage, and suddenly, hearing anything over the roar of the wind became a monumental task. Nonetheless, they plowed onwards, following tracks deep enough to not immediately be swept away. Still, they didn’t have forever, and Daario felt a definite twinge of annoyance as Jorah rolled the jeep to a stop. “What’s the hold up!?” he screamed to make himself heard.

Jorah turned to face them from the driver’s seat. “They’re not headed for Mole’s Town.”

Daario squinted, not understanding, and pushed his way to the front to see out the windshield.

A curse caught in his throat.

The tracks they’d been following for the past half hour…they suddenly split up.

Grey Worm had his radio in hand. “Ms. Targaryen,” he said in his usual even tone, “the situation here has turned—”

Daario snatched the radio out of his hand and was pleased to see that the man was actually capable of scowling. “Dany,” he said into the speaker, “remember that thing we discussed? Yeah, you need to call Stannis Baratheon, now.”

“Why?” Dany asked. “What’s happened?”

“We thought they were taking the infected bodies to Mole’s Town. Thought we could head them off.”

“But…you didn’t?” she answered back hesitantly.

“Well, no, we didn’t head them off. But they’re not headed to Mole’s Town.”

“Where are they headed?”

He eyed the tracks again, like the spokes of a wheel headed in every conceivable direction.

“Everywhere.”

 

***

 

“We’re in Last Hearth,” Daario screamed from the ear piece of the walkie-talkie, all the while the sounds of gunshots and screaming threatened to drown him out. “Only had the one truck to follow them. No doubt they’re sending others to Winterfell, White Harbor, Moat Cailen, Deepwood Motte…any population centers.”

Asha swore. Jon wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but he gathered enough to know it wasn’t good.

“The National Guard?” Asha asked.

“They’ve been called in,” Daario said. “Hope Baratheon sends his whole military. Hope it’s enough.”

“It’s got to be,” Theon whispered, so quietly that Jon was sure he hadn’t meant anyone to hear.

“We’re on our own until they arrive,” Daario said. “If you’re still upright, we could use your help evacuating citizens.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Asha said. “Over and out.”

There was a brief pause as she released her hold on the talk button. A pause where nobody seemed to know what to do or how to react.

“You mean ‘we,’” Theon spoke up.

She looked up from sliding the walkie-talkie into her cargo pants pocket and slipped the strap of her rifle over her chest. “Theon, no.”

“If you want to stop me, you’ll have to chain me up like Falia.”

“I’m going too,” Jon said.

“No way,” Theon said harshly. Then, more softly, “I just got you back. I’m not risking losing you again.”

“ _I’m_ the one who just got _you_ back.” Jon grabbed Theon’s hand to keep him from pulling away. “We’re going together or not at all.”

Theon met his unflinching stare. Jon stared back. Spend three months as a dog, and you get pretty good at not blinking.

It was Asha who broke their standstill.

“We don’t have time for this,” she cried is exasperation. “I suppose you want to go too?” She cast a furtive look at Aeron, whose head popped up at being addressed. “Good. You stay here and watch her.” She jerked her thumb at Falia. “She gets out of line, feel free to break her kneecaps. You two.” She turned back to Jon and Theon. “Keep up or I’m leaving you behind.”

They took Euron’s passkey and headed straight for the elevator. Best way to avoid security. Not a great way to avoid awkward silences.

Theon kept shooting glances his way. He looked like he had a great deal to say, questions to ask, but for whatever reason, Asha’s presence kept him quiet. For her part, she stood by the sliding doors like a sentry, gun at the ready. She wasn’t looking, perhaps allowing them a moment of privacy, and Jon slipped his hand into Theon’s.

Theon stared at their joined hands for a moment. “We…” he started to talk, then closed his mouth.

“What?”

“We don’t have to go,” he said, a whisper. As if Asha couldn’t possibly hear them. “We could run away, go somewhere nobody would ever find us. Dorne. Or maybe the Summer Isles.” He squeezed Jon’s hand. “Maybe just having you back is enough to foil my uncle’s plans.”

Jon thought about that for a second. It would be a lie to say it wasn’t tempting.

“I want you to be safe,” he said at last. “If you want to go, I’ll take you. But I have to come back. I can’t leave.”

“Worth a try.” Theon sighed, as if gathering his courage, and lifted his head. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The elevator descended: Ground Floor, Sublevel One, Sublevel Two. It came to a stop with a ding on Sublevel Three. The doors opened to yet another hall, at the end of which stood a pair of swinging doors. Passing through brought them to a cavernous parking garage. People in bright yellow hazmat suits looked up at their noisy entrance.

These yellow-suited employees were wrangling—or attempting to wrangle—what Jon first took to be wild animals. Wolves or jackals or some such. The noises they made certainly weren’t human. But as he drew close enough, he saw humans. Crouched on all fours, snarling and lunging at the hazmats, but undeniably human all the same.

Their skin was blue. Their eyes were blue.

Jon knew, on an instinctive level apart from everything Dany had told him, that these people weren’t people.

They were dead.

He shuddered.

There were also armed guards, but Jon didn’t really notice them until about a dozen semi-automatic rifles were pointed in their direction. He noticed they faltered when they caught sight of his face.

No sooner had he registered why that was then Asha had her arm wrapped around his neck and her gun pointed at his temple. “Stand down,” she snarled, “or I swear to the Old Gods and New that I’ll blow your boss’s brains out.”

“Stand down!” Jon yelled. “You fools, stand down!” He didn’t entirely need to act panicked; he hoped Asha’s trigger finger didn’t slip. It was the first thing they’d taught him when they’d issued him his own firearm as a cop: Never point at something you don’t intend to shoot.

The guards conferred with each other through looks before hesitantly lowering their weapons.

“Good,” Asha said, leading Jon down the three stairs and towards the nearest truck. “Now, we’re going to take one of these, so if you could kindly not try any funny business, we’ll be on our way.”

“Listen to her,” Jon said. “My niece is crazy. She’ll do it.”

“That’s right, dear uncle, I’m crazy.”

“The two of you are crazy,” Theon mumbled, but Jon caught a grin on his lips.

_We’re getting away with this_ , Jon thought. _We’re really getting away with this_.

 Of course, that was because he was focusing on the living people with rifles and not on the dead, unarmed people. He wasn’t even aware that one had managed to break free from the yellow-suited handlers until a startled scream drew his attention that way.

Straight towards the skeletal thing rushing them. Mouth open. Hands clawing. Blue eyes focused straight. On. Him.

Asha jerked. Jon flinched as her gun’s muzzle smashed against his temple. But she couldn’t seem to draw fast enough. Jon’s horror turned to cold dread as Theon threw himself in front of them.

“Stop!”

Jon thought maybe that had come from him, but it was Theon who opened his mouth.

And the dead thing did.

Stopped, that was.

It stopped dead.

_Dead. Heh._

It stopped and stood there, looking at Theon, as if waiting for…something.

Theon, as tense as a drawn bowstring, put a hand up. “Step back?”

The dead thing did, despite the order sounding more like a question.

It stepped back.

“Sit.”

It did that too.

Asha released her chokehold on Jon’s neck. “Did you _know_ you could do that?” she asked in awe. Jon had never heard her awed before.

“ _How_ did you do that?” One of the yellow suits stepped forward, but quickly stopped when Asha leveled her gun at them.

“I…don’t know,” Theon answered. He put a hand to his head, as if dizzy. “I thought that was just a dream.”

Jon wasn’t sure what that meant, but he saw their opportunity anyway. “Alright!” he hollered. “It’s part of my new operation. Operation…uh, Long Overdue.” _Yeah, that’s good_. “I need to be on the front lines with my niece and nephew. To command my army.”

One of the nearer guards—he had one of those faces that looked smart enough to question orders but dumb enough to not leave well enough alone—raised his rifle. “Why’s your face all beaten in?”

“Because!” Jon snapped. His mind raced for an answer.

“Because we fought over a hooker,” Asha answered. “That’s how we roll in this family. Now, let us out of this bunker or I’ll blow his fucking brains out.”

Nobody moved.

“Do it!” Jon screamed.

“Didn’t you hear us earlier?” Theon joined in, much to Jon’s surprise. “We’re crazy. All of us. We’re fucking crazy.”

There was no disputing that, at least. The guard stood down and everyone watched warily as they made their way to the truck. Asha handed Jon off to Theon so she could climb into the driver’s seat, while the two of them hopped into the back. Dozens of empty shackles rattled as they settled into the bench along the side.

“Alright,” Asha said. The engine revved. “Theon, I think we need to get you to Last Hearth. ASAP.”


	36. The End: The City

They rattled along the frozen tundra. The wind snatched at the truck’s canvas overhand. In the front seat, Asha’s radio sputtered with static. She exchanged the occasional jab with Daario—so at least he was still alive—but mostly she was silent.

Giving them a moment alone.

Theon kicked at the shackles on the truck bed. What he’d done back there…

He remembered so vaguely. Gregor’s body, the two orderlies, huddling on the floor with Margaery. Throwing out his hand and ordering the monster to _stop_. Dr. Maz Durr’s laughter. He’d assumed she’d been the one to call it off. But he…

Was it because he could talk to dead people?

He heard Qyburn’s voice. << _I’ll wager you’ll surprise us again. >>_

He clenched his fists. Whatever it was he’d done, it was a weapon. A way to fight back against Euron’s creatures.

Another voice. << _You may surprise yourself_. >>

_Varys, you sneaky bastard._ Theon could have laughed. _You knew._

The truck continued on at break-neck speed. The radio buzzed. The wind howled.

Theon could account for his own thoughts, but what of Jon? Staring into his lap, eyebrows drawn together. What must he be thinking? Three months locked out of his body, and to be returned only to find… _that_.

“You’re quiet,” Theon noted.

“I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

Jon lifted his head, looking straight ahead. There was nothing to look at. “I want to raise my child.”

Theon tried to hide his surprise.

“My son or daughter…the one Euron and Falia…I should be the one to raise it. And I want you to help me.” Only once it was out in the open did he dare turn to Theon to gauge his reaction.

“You’re asking…?”

“Only if you want,” Jon hurried to add.

“Jon, I’m no…” Theon shook his head. “I’d make a terrible father.”

Jon snorted. “That’s not true. You’ve got a massive protective streak.”

“But I’m not—with kids I…” He trailed off. He’d never seriously considered having children of his own. Hells, he’d barely been an adult himself when he’d been sent to prison. And after that, it had been abundantly clear. “I shouldn’t be around kids, Jon. I _killed_ two.”

Jon’s mouth fell open, and Theon winced. He hated to remind Jon, remind him that he was dating a child murderer. A child murderer who hadn’t even served his entire sentence.

_I’ll serve my sentence later_ , he thought grimly. _No getting out of that_.

To his surprise, Jon took hold of his hands. “It was terrible what happened,” he said, holding so tight it hurt. “But it happened, and you can’t keep it from letting you live your life. You said yourself, that’s what they told you, isn’t it? The two boys.”

Theon nodded.

“It’s one minute of your life, Theon. One minute that led to terrible things. But it’s not a reflection of you. Who you are.”

Theon lowered his head. “But it is.”

“No, it’s—”

“The Gods don’t care.”

Jon breathed in sharply.

“The…ghosts…they told me. When I die, I’m going to have to stand before the Seven. They don’t care that it was one moment.” Not just one moment. A culmination of moments. The drinking, the whoring, the aimless rebellion. All leading to that _one moment_ on an otherwise deserted stretch of road.  “They don’t care that I didn’t mean for it to happen. That I would take it back if I could.”

Plowing through the guardrail, so drunk he didn’t understand that his airbags had deployed. Didn’t understand that the screaming and crying was coming from outside the car and not inside his head.

“I’m going where the murderers go when they die, Jon.”

A tear broke free from his lashes and quickly froze to his cheek.

“That’s what they told you?” Jon pressed. “That all murderers go to hell?”

Theon nodded miserably.

Jon sighed and ran a finger along Theon’s cheek, brushing away the frozen tear. “Then I guess I’m going to hell too.”

Theon’s head snapped up. “What? No, Jon, you’re not a—”

“A murderer?” Jon finished. “I murdered Ramsay didn’t I?”

“No, that wasn’t murder. You were protecting me.”

“But I killed him.”

“But—” Theon grabbed Jon’s face, as if clutching him for dear life. “But you’re good, Jon. No, I’m sure—They’ll see that you had to do it, that you’re a good person and you didn’t have a choice.”

“I killed Ramsay,” Jon repeated. “I meant to do it and I’d do it again. And according to you, the Gods don’t care about any excuses.”

“No, no, I won’t accept that.”

“And you think I’m going to accept it with you?”

There was only one thing Theon could accept.

“He’s lying,” he said. “Mel was right. He’s just lying to me. To fuck with my head.”

“Who?” Jon asked, though of course he had to know.

“Ramsay.”

“That’s who told you you’re going to hell? Ramsay?” Jon pulled Theon’s face close. “When did he ever tell you anything that wasn’t a lie?”

“He told me I’m worthless. He told me I deserve everything.”

“You’re not and you don’t.” Jon kissed him. Both their lips were rapidly becoming chapped in the cold, but he didn’t seem to care. He held it until Theon relaxed against him, letting him take control of the moment. Only then did Jon pull away. “I don’t know what happens after we die, but I’m not going to spend my life worrying. Theon, will you marry me?”

Theon stared at him, mouth open. “Y-you can’t be serious.”

“I mean…I want my child to have two parents. But if you’re not—”

“Yes,” Theon breathed. He pulled back and slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead. “Shit, I never thought I’d say that. Never thought anyone would ask. But…why not, huh? I mean, what do I have to lose? I suppose I could make you miserable. You could come to your senses and realize I have absolutely no life skills and that I’m—”

Jon silenced him with another kiss. “You could never make me miserable, Theon. I promise.”

 

***

 

Last Hearth was the nearest big city to Mole’s Town. Theon had never been. And pulling into the city limits now, he couldn’t say he was too impressed. The highway was clogged with outbound traffic, some people so desperate to evacuate they ditched their cars and ran on foot. Asha swerved to avoid cars that had abandoned all pretense of traffic laws and were barreling straight at them the wrong way down the road. Jon and Theon held on for dear life as she weaved in and out, finally pulling into an off ramp and jumping several curbs as she made her way to the city center, where Daario had told them they were successfully beating back the forces of the living dead.

Right before his signal cut out.

The streets were narrow and jammed with people, running, screaming, panicking. They blocked the way in. Some of them banged on the windshield, others tried to climb in the back. Asha growled in frustration as the truck crept at a snail’s pace. “We’ll never get anywhere like this.” She slammed on the brakes, halting their five-kilometer-an-hour progress, and gathered up her rifle. “Alright, you two. We’re hoofing it the rest of the way.”

“One second,” Jon said. He hopped down from the back of the truck, wincing as he landed on his knee. Theon saw him fighting back his pain as he turned to the swarming mass. “Attention!” he called in a commanding voice that had those nearest singling in on it. “Attention, everyone! I’m an officer of the law. Can I have your attention please?”

Panic subsided outwards like a wave, until the entire crowd had gathered around the truck. Despite Jon’s swollen and bloodied face, everyone stopped to listen to him, clinging to his self-proclaimed authority. Theon swelled with pride at the way Jon had brought everyone under control so easily. He made a note to tease Jon about impersonating a police officer later, though. _You’re not Officer Snow anymore, Jon._

“I need you all,” Jon said, “to go inside and lock your doors. We have reinforcements coming, and you need to clear the streets for them. Keep calm. Get indoors and barricade yourselves in. Help those who fall behind.”

Somewhere, a baby began to cry.

“Go!” Jon ordered.

The crowd broke into action. Theon hoped they would follow Jon’s orders. They probably would if Jon stayed around to direct them, but there was no time for that.

They gathered their weapons and fought their way through the crowd, who parted more easily for them on foot. Still, it was like wading through sand and took minutes to cover even one city block. That is, until the screaming went up. Somewhere down the street.

The haphazard order erupted into chaos once more as people crawled, kicked, and elbowed their way forward. Theon felt bodies press in on all sides, threatening to drag him under. A hand grabbed hold of his, and he grabbed back for dear life. He and Jon went down together and crawled to the safety of a storefront stoop.

“Asha?” he called. His voice mingled with the screaming.

“She can take care of herself,” Jon said.

Theon nodded. He had to believe that.

Because somewhere nearby, a scream rose above the others. Pain instead of panic. Others joined in. And then Theon could hear the guttural noises beneath, wild animals howling and barking. He shuddered.

“Stop,” he said.

He stood. Jon tried to pull him back, but he was stronger than Jon. How surreal. _He_ was stronger than _Jon_.

“Stop!” He yelled it as loud as he could. “Let them pass!”

The human screaming continued, but the guttural sounds died away. The wave of people surged forward. Theon pushed against them.

“Let them pass!” he called again. “You don’t want to hurt anyone!”

The wave turned into a trickle as the humans escaped, leaving behind a scene Theon wished he didn’t have to see. The blue-skinned, blue-eyed creatures, standing like stooped sentries. They watched him as he drew close, but not like they were actually seeing him. On the ground, mauled bodies struggled to stand. Theon didn’t know if they were alive or in the process of turning.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

Some did. Some didn’t. Those were the living ones.

Not for long.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it.

He felt weight of the gun in his hand and wondered if it would be a kindness to end them quickly, before they could come back. Before Euron’s virus could corrupt their brains and force them to turn on their loved ones.

His hand shook. He couldn’t do it. Nobody would ask that of him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and spun to find Asha. “You’re okay,” he greeted with a smile. A hug might be overkill, even without her rifle in the way.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said. “What about you?”

He was silent.

“That’s fine. After this—” She gestured with her gun. “—I’m paying for therapy for everyone.”

Theon laughed, because the joke was horrible and out of place and, seriously, there were dead and dying people at their feet.

“Your sister’s sick,” Ramsay said. Theon hadn’t even noticed him hanging around. “I like her.”

“Ramsay, you old liar,” Theon said, shaking his head, still laughing. “You’re dead and not really relevant any more, no matter how hard you try, so maybe, I don’t, fuck off or something.”

“You tell him, baby brother,” Asha said. “Now, let’s keep going.”

“You heard her!” Theon said, doing his best to mimic Jon’s commanding voice as he turned to the lifeless figures. “Take us to our friends. We’re ending this.”


	37. The End: The Battle for Last Hearth

The dead grew thicker the closer they got to the city center, where Euron had ordered the first wave to be released, according to Asha’s scattered intel from Daario. Still no word from him. But more and more zombies.

Zombies. That didn’t sound like the right word. _Others_ , Jon thought. _Or walkers. Or just…creatures_.

Theon ordered them to stand down, and they did. They followed behind, marching in step, eerily silent. Not all of them had blue-tinted skin. Some of them were fresher than that. Jon didn’t want to think about it.

He didn’t have to, not for long, because as they passed overturned cars, broken windows, and storefronts on fire, the noise of distant battle took the place of their silence. Gunfire, yelling, percussive blasts that left car alarms blaring several streets away.

Theon pointed ahead. “Go,” he said. “Protect the living. Attack any of your own kind you see.”

The creatures took off to do his bidding, running, walking, shambling as the states of their bodies allowed. The blue-tinted ones were slower and stiffer; the newly turned ones moved almost like humans. Again, Jon didn’t want to think about it. The three living humans hobbled along at their own pace, Jon hanging on Theon’s shoulder and Asha covering them with her rifle.

The streets opened up into a walking mall that, from the looks of the shopping bags left unattended, had been crowded when the creatures had been unleashed on the unsuspecting public. Blood and gore spatters gave credence to Jon’s suspicions. At the far end of the mall, he could catch flashes of a conflict of progress, but it didn’t really become _real_ until a flaming car came barreling at them through the air.

“Get down!” Asha screamed and, diving into Jon and Theon, knocked all of them out of the way. A close thing, too. The car rolled three times before crashing into a storefront and straight up exploding. The heat of it melted the neatly plowed snow on the walkway, as well as any metal caught in its wake. “God damn it, Cersei,” Asha grumbled as she got to her knees and dusted herself off. “Look before you throw.”

Well, at least one member of Dany’s team was alive. That was hopeful.

Asha grabbed hold of Theon’s arm and hauled him to his feet. “Let’s get you in there.”

“How’s this ever going to work?” Theon asked. “We don’t know how many people have been infected, and they’re obviously not contained. How am I ever supposed to—?”

“Don’t think about it right now,” Jon said, grasping the back of Theon’s head and holding it so that his boyfriend—fiancé—had no choice but to look straight at him. “One thing at a time, okay. We’ll deal with this and then the next thing that comes up. And then the next.” He planted a kiss on Theon’s forehead. “We’re going to come out of this on the other side. I know it. Because my mother’s wedding ring is in a box in my dresser and I need to give it to you. To make things official.”

“I’m sorry to say, Jon—”

Jon’s heart stopped a moment.

“I don’t think your mother’s ring is going to fit me.” Theon held up a hand. His fingers were fairly slender, but obviously bigger than a woman’s.

Jon laughed. “I’ll have it resized. We’ll make things fit.”

“We’ll make things fit,” Theon repeated.

They continued down the promenade. It was easy to tell where the humans were fighting; the creatures swarmed those areas. Biting, clawing, like starving dogs over a piece of meat. They stood down when Theon gave the order, however, parting to reveal Grey Worm, barely keeping his attackers at bay with the butt of his rifle. Used bullet casings and bullet-ridden bodies littered the ground, and still Grey Worm swung his empty weapon around like a club, yelling furiously. He didn’t immediately stop, too caught up in the moment to recognize allies from enemies. It was only when Asha grabbed hold of the rifle and yanked it out of his hands that he realized what was happening.

“Asha?” His breath came heavy and sweat poured down his brow, despite the sub-freezing temperatures. He blinked as he looked from her to Theon to Jon. “I hope you are Jon Snow.”

“Back in the flesh,” Jon said.

“Then your mission was successful?”

“We weren’t able to call off the attack,” Asha said. A picnic table whooshed by over her head, knocking creatures out of the way like bowling pins. “Obviously. But we have a secret weapon now.” She nodded to Theon, then to the sea of others standing perfectly docile off to the side.

Jon had to give Grey Worm credit. A lot of credit. The man studied the situation for second or two, took it in, and without any unnecessary questions said, “How far do your new powers reach?”

“I…don’t know,” Theon responded.

“The mall?” Grey Worm suggested.

“I think…if they can hear me.”

Grey Worm nodded. “Belwas!”

From across the way, the creatures parted again. Not peacefully, as they’d done for Theon, but flung into the air like ragdolls. A big man Jon recognized from Dany’s chalet burst out from the center, swinging his arms wildly. Jon searched for his name. Belwas, he supposed, given Grey Worm’s shout. The big man brushed off the creatures clinging to him as if they were fleas and came bounding over to Grey Worm.

Grey Worm said something to him in Valyrian. Perhaps asking if he’d been scratched or bitten, because the large man gave himself a cursory glance before shaking his head, negative.

Grey Worm pointed to Theon and said something. Belwas nodded, and without further prompting, reached down and grabbed Theon under his armpits. Theon squawked in indignation as he was lifted off his feet.

“Don’t worry,” Grey Worm said. “Belwas will get you where you need to be.”

And just like that, Belwas was off, Theon flung over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Jon called after them. “Wait!”

But Asha grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back. “Belwas won’t let anything happen to him,” she said. “And I won’t let anything happen to you. Stick by me. I’m going to lend a hand. But for the love of God, don’t do anything _stupid_. My baby brother would never forgive me if you got yourself killed under _my_ watch.”

Jon nodded numbly and followed her and Grey Worm into the fray. They stayed close to the outskirts, hugging the wall so as not to leave their backs unguarded. Asha gave Grey Worm her handgun, and with all three armed, they made their way along the avenue.

“Aiming for their heads is the best strategy,” Grey Worm called.

Jon noted that and fired straight between the eyes of an approaching creature. Its blue eyes rolled back in its head and it collapsed, twitching. _It’s not a person_ , he told himself. _Not anymore_. It didn’t really help.

He caught glimpses of Cersei and Melisandre, throwing bodies and flames about respectively. They seemed to be holding their own. Jon was mesmerized by the two of them, women he had been led to believe hated each other, working in tandem. Cersei lifted the creatures off the ground, and Melisandre blasted them with her fire. They left a path of destruction in their wake. A terrible dance.

“Where’s Daario?” Asha asked.

Grey Worm shook his head. “I don’t know. We tried to maintain contact, but when the fighting broke out…”

“Why, Greyjoy, Grey Worm, are you concerned for me?”

They all jumped and spun, weapons at the ready, pointed straight at the figure who materialized from the sporting goods store. Daario grinned lopsidedly at them as he leaned heavily on the doorframe, clutching his side. The blue hair still looked ridiculous, but it was preferable to blue skin.

“I…” He paused to catch his breath. “I’m glad to see you made it, Greyjoy.”

“Likewise,” Asha said back.

Daario winced. “I…wouldn’t say that…exactly.”

He clutched his side harder, and blood dribbled between his fingers. Gingerly, he lifted his hand to reveal the wound beneath. Through the torn clothing, Jon could see the chunk that had been taken out of his flesh. Jon grimaced. Having torn a man apart with his teeth before, he knew exactly what he was looking at.

“Shit,” Asha hissed.

“You…you should see the other guy,” Daario wheezed. “I got ‘im back good.”

“Neharis,” Grey Worm said levelly.

Daario held out a hand. “I know, I know. It’s not good.”

“Maybe we could get him back to White & Walker headquarters,” Asha said. “My uncle must have made a vaccine. If we can get him there fast enough—”

“You won’t,” Daario interrupted. “I’m already dead, Greyjoy. I’ve been nearly killed enough times to know there’s no coming back this time.” His face grew uncharacteristically stern. “At least, I’d _prefer_ not to come back.”

Asha gritted her teeth. “You’re giving up? Just like that?”

“Not giving up, no,” he said with a shake of his head. “Just…admitting when I’ve been bested.” He smiled at her and offered his handgun. “You should be happy, Greyjoy. You’ve won.”

Asha ground her teeth together but took the gun.

“You’ll treat her right…won’t you?”

Asha aimed the weapon. “I’ll tell her you died bravely.”

“I appreciate that, but you don’t have to lie on my behalf.”

She scoffed. A good-natured scoff. “As if I’d lie on your behalf, Neharis.”

“It’s been a pleasure, Greyjoy. Good luck.”

The gun fired and Daario fell over all in seemingly the same instant. He landed on the ground, a bullet in his forehead. The shot was true, but when Asha lowered her weapon, her hand was shaking. She turned her head away quickly.

“Come on,” she said in a strangely robotic voice. “We have work to do.”

Jon hadn’t worked with Daario that much, but the man deserved better. All the people who had died and come back today deserved better. Asha had schooled her face back into a snarl, but Jon could tell she was thinking about it. About how she expected them to do the same for her if it came to it.

They continued along the wall, picking off the creatures as they went.

“Where’s Jorah?” Asha finally asked.

“I don’t know that either,” Grey Worm said. “He stayed back to flag down reinfor—”

His voice was drowned out from above by the sound of helicopter blades. The immediate area was bathed in a blinding light. Jon threw his hands up to cover his eyes, but there was no guarding against the assault on his ears. Like a giant buzzing insect, it descended on them, spotlight leading the way.

When had it gotten dark enough for a spotlight? Right, it was Winter. It was always dark. He’d been inside so long, he’d forgotten days weren’t measured by the fluorescent lights going on overhead.

The helicopter froze above them, hovering. Jon cracked his eyes open enough to see the figure silhouetted in the door, hair whipping about. Megaphone poised.

“Stand down!” Theon’s voice boomed. “Stop attacking and stand down!”

The walkers did. All up and down the street, they stopped attacking. Cersei and Melisandre did not, however, taking advantage of their unmoving targets. Men and women in fatigues swarmed in from all sides to join them, mowing down the creatures with no resistance.

“Reinforcements,” Asha sighed in relief.

“For Last Hearth,” Jon said. “What about the other locations?”

The helicopter carrying Theon touched down where the street was widest, where, in summer, children would play in the open fountain. The blades threw up snow and wind, making the promenade its own contained storm as Theon leapt out, megaphone still in hand. “Jon!”

Jon couldn’t hear him very well, but he knew the shape of his name on Theon’s lips. He abandoned his spot against the wall and ran to him, grabbing him tight.

“I can do it!” Theon fairly screamed. “I think I can reach all of them! We just have to amplify the signal.”

“Amplify…?” Jon looked at the megaphone.

“No, not that.” Theon dropped it. “This.” He pointed to his temple.

Jon understood. “You want…to use one of those chairs to amplify your powers?”

Theon nodded. “There’s one back at the White & Walker facility.”

“I know one that’s closer.” Jon gripped Theon’s arm tightly. “There’s one in Mole’s Town.”

Theon’s eyes widened. He knew right away which one Jon was talking about.

“Bolton Penitentiary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for a bonus interlude chapter.


	38. Interlude: The Battle for Last Hearth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second bonus chapter today.

Jaime cursed as his gun spat empty rounds. “Cover me, wench!” Brienne nodded. They’d been doing this for the last hour or so, one covering while the other reloaded their spent weapon. It worked well enough, evidenced by the fact that they were both still alive.

He hadn’t seen Cersei in over twenty minutes, though he could still hear her, destroying everything in her path. Gods, she was like a beautiful, terrifying goddess of destruction. If Jaime were the sort to get weak in the knees, that’d do it for him. He remembered why he’d first been drawn to her, despite everything within him telling him _this is wrong, she’s your sister, Father wouldn’t approve_.

Fuck Father.

Cersei was the first thing _he_ wanted, for himself. Not the private schools and elite student clubs and military academies. No, Cersei was a fiercer, more beautiful version of himself, a mirror image of what he could be. She wore her strength on her sleeve and didn’t tolerate fools. Whereas he had to play the clown and defer to fools. Only ever was he allowed to voice his true thoughts, show his real face, when they were alone together.

The day she’d died—the day they’d told her she’d died—had been the first time he’d dropped his mask in public. And Tywin had berated him harshly for it.

He loaded new bullets into his gun with a steady, practiced hand. Tywin had been furious when he’d dropped out of military academy to become a police officer, but Jaime’s only regret was that he hadn’t gone against his father’s wishes earlier. He found the job oddly rewarding, and while there was no shortage of fools on the force, there were one or two pleasant surprises.

“Hurry up, Lannister!” Brienne barked as she shot another walker—Jaime had been calling them “walkers” in his head this whole time—in the head. It didn’t even get within arm’s length of him.

“Good shot, Tarth.”

“Some of us are concentrating on the task at hand, not drifting off in La-La Land.”

Jaime would be lying if he said he didn’t have a ridiculous amount of affection for his partner, though he wouldn’t admit it if you put a gun to his head. At first he’d hated it, being stuck with an ugly, brutish woman cop, but she’d proved surprisingly competent.

She was fierce, but in her own distinct way, different from Cersei. Although she could probably bench press Jaime, her true strength was in her convictions, her unwavering dedication to what was right. He’d thought the whole “honorable cop” bit was an act; it had taken him a year of working with her to figure out it wasn’t. She just genuinely cared that much. He didn’t think there were actually cops like that.

It made him want to _be_ one of those cops.

He finished loading the final bullet and clicked the chamber back into place. He cocked the gun, and that was when he realized it had grown silent. Eerily silent. No moaning, no animal noises. Brienne hadn’t fired off a shot in a while because no more walkers had made their way down the alley in the last few minutes.

The noise of Cersei’s wrath was silent.

Panicked, Jaime burst into a sprint.

“Jaime!” Brienne cried after him, and he could hear her thunderous footsteps following him. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“Cersei!” he screamed. “I have to make sure she’s alright!”

She caught up with him before he’d even broken free of the alley and grabbed hold of the back of his parka. He was jerked back with an annoyed “oomph.” She whirled him around and screamed in his face, “Don’t just go running headlong into trouble!”

“But Cersei needs me.”

“Cersei can take care of herself.” Firm hands grabbed his shoulders. “She’s strong.”

He looked up at her. Gods, he wasn’t used to having to crane his neck to look at anyone, let alone a woman. “I know.” Her eyes. Behind the crooked nose and big teeth and freckles, she had exceptionally pretty eyes. Jaime wondered why he’d never noticed before. “But I still need to make sure she’s okay.”

Brienne gave him a harsh shake. “You’ll get yourself killed, you idiot. _Cersei_ doesn’t need you.”

It was a slap to the face, but perhaps one he needed. Yes, Cersei had never _needed_ him, not like he’d needed her. And the one time she had needed him, he hadn’t been there.

He was about to begin a trek down a long road of shameful memories when he registered Brienne’s tone, her words. “What about you, Tarth?”

She blinked. “What _about_ me?”

“Do you need me?”

Her face registered surprise, and then disgust. She let go of him. “I just didn’t want you getting yourself killed. You don’t need to read into it so much.”

“It’s fine to admit it if you do.”

“I don’t _need_ you, Lannister.” She unholstered her gun, then paused. “But…all the same, I’d rather you didn’t die.”

Jaime smirked. “I’d rather you didn’t die either, Tarth. I’ve grown attached to you.”

Her freckled face went bright red.

Jaime nodded to her gun. “Let’s go see what’s holding those fuckers up out there.”

She blinked, realized she’d become distracted, and nodded back.

They crept with their backs pressed against the brick wall of the alley, guns poised.

“You know,” Brienne said, “when this is all over, she’s going to leave again.”

“When this is all over, we might all be dead.”

“Whatever you think you’re going to say to convince her to stay…it’s not going to work. Nothing’s changed.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. He so badly wanted to argue with her, make some cutting remark, but she was right. He knew it, not even that deep down. Cersei was not the woman he’d known all those years ago. Still just as fierce, but now there was so much hatred and rage. She’d always had a temper and he had never known her to pass up a chance for petty revenge, but now it was as if she couldn’t even see him through all her anger.

He didn’t want to think that the Cersei he’d fallen in love with really _had_ died.

“Don’t die for her, Jaime.”

“I don’t intend to die at all,” he said back.

And because he didn’t want to think about it anymore, he turned his back on her and led the charge out of the alleyway, gun sweeping the area. Only to find the walkers were just…standing there, staring up at the sky. Jaime followed their upwards gaze. A helicopter with a spotlight and some asshole screaming through a megaphone.

Suddenly, a dozen people in camouflage came pouring as if out of the woodworks, dispatching the walkers where they stood. Jaime only came back to his senses when one of them pointed a rifle at _him_.

“Whoa, whoa!” He held up his hands in surrender. “Living person here.”

The man in fatigues lowered his rifle and looked from him to Brienne, who appeared to be in a similar state of surprise. “Civilians?”

“Cops,” Jaime answered.

The man eyed them skeptically. “What were you doing hiding in that alley? Making out or something?”

“N-no!” Brienne sputtered.

“And if we were?” Jaime shot back.

The man shrugged. “Not my business. You can either help us with containment and dispatch or you can head on out of town. We’re evacuating civilians.”

“We’ll help,” Brienne said, then looked to Jaime, as if she needed confirmation that he was in as well. He was almost insulted.

“At your service.”

As they joined the group of soldiers sweeping their way down the street, Jaime kept a lookout for Cersei. She wasn’t the woman he’d fallen in love with, and perhaps she didn’t even love him anymore, but a part of him would never stop loving her. At the same time, he couldn’t help but shoot glances at his partner. How long had they been together now? Certainly since he’d moved to Mole’s Town following his demotion in King’s Landing.

“Say, Brienne, after this is all over…”

“Assuming we’re alive?”

“I am assuming that, yes.”

“What?”

“Do you want to, I don’t know, do something? Grab a coffee? See a movie? Have a drunken one-night stand that makes things awkward between us but maybe, eventually, turns into something more serious?”

She quickly turned her face away, but he caught the reddening of her cheeks. “Just focus on the mission for the moment, Lannister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: The two-part finale


	39. The End: The End, Part I

Bolton Penitentiary was just as it had been left after it had been raided, but with considerably more dust and cobwebs. The unused overhead lighting flickered. It wasn’t a degree warmer in here than it had been outside; no one had bothered to maintain the heating systems.

These were the tunnels he had been dragged through that night. Pulled from his cell, strapped to an operating table, head sheared and skull cut open. He’d been kept like a rat in a maze, led from one torturous “test” to another, always under the watchful eyes of Roose Bolton. And Ramsay.

Theon pushed it all back, swept it aside like the cobwebs in front of him. There was no time for ghosts now.

A man in a general’s uniform led the way. He’d introduced himself as General Seaworth when he’d handed Theon the megaphone and instructed him to get into the helicopter. He’d also been the one to order the helicopter take him to the penitentiary, the fastest route by air. Theon still wasn’t sure how he felt about generals, given the last one he’d interacted with had been the one ordering the aforementioned skull cutting, but he had to admire Seaworth’s sense of urgency.

They found their way to the “chair room” just as one of Seaworth’s people found the fuses. The lights and every bit of machinery moaned into life after months—years? Had it been years already?—of disuse. And the centerpiece of it all, that goddamn chair. Not a recreation, but the one he had spent hours strapped into, an electric current run straight into his brain.

And he was about to get back in, willingly.

“It’s not so bad,” he said softly to himself. “Sansa’s been doing it for months.”

“Sansa?”

Theon looked up into Jon’s concerned face. He and Asha had done their best to bring Jon up to speed on the way to Last Hearth, but there was still so much Jon had missed. Joining up with Dany. Sansa discovering her powers after an encounter with Tyrion Lannister. Tracking down the wayward subjects of Project Greenseer. Theon didn’t know where to start, even if they’d had the time.

“Ghost is fine,” he said.

Jon blinked in confusion.

“I just thought you should know,” Theon explained as he made his way towards the chair. “I’ve been taking good care of him.”

“Does anyone here know how to operate this thing?” General Seaworth called from the control console.

Theon closed his eyes and tried to concentrate through the voices. There were a lot of them here, people who had lost their lives, people who clung to the living in this room. Someone had to know—

He bolted upright at the spirit that finally made itself known to him.

“You’re dead?” he asked.

Dr. Mirri Maz Durr was dressed as she had been when he’d encountered her in the morgue beneath White & Walker: dressed in a clean doctor’s coat, a stethoscope around her neck, hair pulled back. She regarded him much as she had that day, as if he were something truly interesting.

“You weren’t expecting to see me on this side of the living,” she noted. There was no trace of an accent, probably because she was speaking her native language. Or perhaps whatever universal language dead people spoke. Theon had never had trouble understanding them. “I met with an unfortunate lab accident two days ago. A bullet to the back of the head.”

“Euron?”

She nodded, hands tucked calmly in the pockets of her coat. “Near enough to implementation of his plans, I suppose I was more of a liability than an asset. For what it’s worth, I thought my creations would be used on _them_.” She nodded with her chin to the military personnel. “I would have protested using it on civilians, so perhaps he was smart to be rid of me.”

Theon didn’t know what to say to that, but she seemed to know what he was thinking and would not say.

“Ah, there is a saying where I’m from. Good intentions do not wash away evil results.” She shook her head. “What is done is done.”

“Can you operate the machinery?” Theon asked.

“I learned how to during my tenure at White & Walker. It’s quite simple, but care must be taken not to injure the chair’s occupant.”

“I don’t really care about that.”

Her mouth quirked into a smile. “It’s funny how one can stop caring for their well-being. Sometimes because they have nothing to lose…” Her eyes flickered to Jon. “And something because they have _everything_ to lose.”

Theon jumped when he felt a warm hand close around his. Jon’s face was very near. “What don’t you care about, Theon?”

Right. For all intents and purposes, he’d been talking to himself. Jon and everyone else in the room were privy to a one-sided conversation.

“Nothing,” Theon said. “Dr. Maz Durr says the machine is easy to operate.”

“Simple,” Maz Durr corrected. “Not easy.”

“Tell me what to tell them,” he said in response.

As Seaworth fired the console up via Theon’s instructions via Dr. Maz Durr’s instructions, Jon continued to hold his hand. “It won’t be like before,” he said. “You can tell us if it’s too much and we’ll stop it. Alright?”

“I can take it.”

Jon’s hold became painfully tight. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Theon wanted to remind him that people’s lives were on the line, possibly even the fate of the world. If this thing raged out of control, beyond what they could quarantine…and even if they could quarantine it, how many thousands of lives would be lost? How many lives were being lost as they spoke?

Instead he smiled. “I won’t.”

Jon smiled back and started to pull away.

Theon stopped him though and pulled him in for a kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Jon said, looking bewildered.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Theon said. “But just in case, I thought I’d let you know.”

“We’re ready over here,” Seaworth called. “Tell us when you are.”

Theon took a deep breath and laid his head against the headrest. The familiar jab of the probe hit the base of his skull. “Ready.”

It hit him like a wall.

His head slammed against the headrest, but he barely registered that. Instead there was just the white hot electricity flowing into his brain, down into his body, tingling in his fingers and toes and…other places. His teeth locked together as he spasmed. Over the sound of his own brain sizzling, he could hear it. A low murmur. Not unlike the voices that had called out to him in the garage under White & Walker. He knew them right away, though there had never been quite so _many_ of them.

He was pulled out of his body, into a comforting nothingness. The pain faded. The world fell away. It felt like visiting a home you had not lived in for many years.

The voices clamored for his attention. He felt for the…nearest one (“near” meant nothing here). He had no hands, but a thread of light went where he wanted to go. “Please help,” the voice said. “Help my children. I’m hurting them!” The light encircled it, and suddenly Theon could feel the woman’s reanimated body, located in Winterfell. Her children had locked themselves in a closet, but her body was tearing the flimsy wood apart to get to them.

“Stop,” Theon ordered. “Be calm.”

He felt the woman’s body stop.

“Get away from the door.”

The body did.

“Thank you,” the woman sobbed, but her voice was quickly lost among the others.

“Help!”

“Help me!”

“I can’t—”

“I’m not—”

“You have to do something.”

Theon felt them, the spirits watching as their bodies were reanimated against their will, as somebody else _used_ them. He knew their feelings of violation, of helplessness. “I will,” he promised. “I’ll try.”

More threads of light snaked outwards, seeking more voices and the bodies they had once belonged to. So foreign a feeling, reaching out for anyone. Theon had spent so long making sure nobody touched him, ever. His whole life, maybe. He’d done his best to make himself the biggest cunt possible, so how was it possible he still had any tethers left?

Asha, who had been with him through his trial, who had promised to visit him every week he was in prison, who had paid for his therapy after Project Greenseer was dissolved, who had stayed with him to rescue Jon.

Margaery, who had pulled him out of his darkest hour by reminding him of his name, who had reached out to him again in the aftermath of Project Greenseer when she had no obligation to, who’d stood up for him and stood up against Euron when she’d been as terrified as he had.

Sam and Gilly and Jaime and Brienne, who had offered him protection when they’d hardly known him, who’d done everything in their power to find him when he’d given himself over to Ramsay in exchange for Jon’s freedom and again when he’d been taken by Euron, who’d supported him and cried with him during the months when he’d thought Jon dead.

Jon, who, for whatever reason, loved him.

The void was filled with light as he reached for every voice. He could feel them all. Hundreds, thousands, more arriving every moment. Their bodies thrashed, enslaved by his uncle’s machinations. Turned into vessels for violence.

“Stop,” Theon ordered. “Be calm. You don’t want to hurt anyone.”

He felt them in Last Hearth and in Karhold and Deepwood Motte and Winterfell. He felt the ones still en route to White Harbor and Moat Cailin, pulling against their chains in the back of White & Walker trucks.

“Be calm,” he told them. “Stand down.”

One by one, as he reached ever outward with his mind, they did.

They calmed. The will to tear and bite and kill and spread faded.

They stopped.

“Thank you.”

Relief flashed along the tendrils of light. They were grateful. He’d helped them. He’d saved them.

He’d done good.

 

***

 

Jon watched Theon writhe in the chair, remembering his own brief time in this facility, in this very chair. Not something he would wish on his enemies, let alone his lover. Was this his eternal fate? Locked out, unable to help, made to watch as forces outside his control took away his loved ones?

Ygritte, his first love, with her wild red hair, taken by a bullet from one of his peers.

Robb, his cousin, as good as a brother, taken by Roose Bolton’s hired cutthroat.

Theon, taken first by Ramsay, then by Euron. And now, taken again.

_Come back to me._

The radio clipped to General Seaworth’s belt crackled. “This is Unit One in Last Hearth. Sir, the walkers are standing down. Repeat, the walkers are standing down. Over.”

A cheer rose up among the military personnel in the room.

“Unit Two in Karhold. The walkers are no longer attacking. Over.”

“Unit Three in Winterfell reporting similar, sir. Orders? Over.”

Seaworth held up his hand to silence the cheering. “Neutralize them,” he ordered back. “Press the advantage.” He looked up, and his eyes met Jon’s from across the console. “Your boy’s done well, lad.”

Jon couldn’t help the small, proud smile that found its way onto his face.

_Of course Theon will come back to me. He always comes back to me_.


	40. The End: The End, Part II

“How long does he need to stay there?” Jon asked nervously. It had been hours, and Theon had all but stopped moving. Only his gentle breathing was proof that he was alive. Jon dared not touch him in his current state, but every passing minute was a struggle not to rip Theon out of the chair and feel his pulse. Surely the military grunts had done their job by now. “Can’t we bring him out of it?”

“Still waiting for confirmation, lad,” Seaworth said. “We can’t run the risk of your boy losing his hold on even a single one of these things.”

“How will we know when they’ve all been taken care of?”

“Soon enough.” The general had a fatherly way about him that reminded Jon of Ned Stark, who had truly been the only parent Jon had ever known. “We’ll have the med team ready to tend to him just as soon as we get the go-ahead.”

Jon stood next to Theon, unsure what to do with his hands. Waiting. Waiting.

He jumped back in surprise when Theon’s eyes popped open and stared straight at him.

No, not Theon’s eyes. These eyes…he knew them, and they weren’t Theon’s.

“Why, hello, Doggy.”

Jon clenched his fists. “Ramsay, where’s Theon?”

“Theon’s not here,” Ramsay said in a little sing-song voice. “Guess you’ll just have to deal with me.”

Jon lunged at him, but one of the uniformed soldiers rushed in to hold him back.

“There’s an electric current running through his body, lad!” Seaworth called, but Jon hardly registered it.

“It’s been a long time, Doggy.” Ramsay smiled. “What? Did you get nostalgic for our time together? Is that why we’re back in my father’s shit hole of a prison?” He gave Jon a wink. “What do you say? Want to relive old times?”

“Laugh it up.” Jon stopped fighting the solider and allowed himself to be dragged backwards. “When Theon wakes up, you’ll be forced out.”

“Ah, and if Ghost doesn’t come back? What if he decides to go into the light, hmm?”

_He’ll come back_ , Jon thought. “You know what happens. You’ll die. That body knows who it belongs to, and it isn’t you.”

“Used to belong to me,” Ramsay said with a mock pout. Or maybe it was a genuine pout, Jon couldn’t be sure. “All these rules, no fun.” He leaned his head back, as if his body wasn’t violently jerking from the electric current. “Won’t you play with me just a little, Doggy? Being dead is so dreadfully boring.”

“Is that why you continue torment Theon? Because you’re _bored_?”

“Good point. I have no idea what I’ll do with myself if Ghost dies. Move on, I suppose?”

“Why don’t you then?”

A shadow passed over Ramsay’s face.

“Why don’t you move on?” Jon repeated. “Aren’t there people waiting for you on the other side? Your friend, Reek, for one.”

Ramsay’s lip was set in a rigid line.

“Or those women you murdered,” Jon went on. “Your mother. You’re…not afraid of meeting them again, are you, Ramsay?”

“Of course not.”

Despite the hideousness of the situation, Jon smiled. “You’re afraid, aren’t you? You’re afraid of moving on. That’s why you’re clinging to Theon. You’re afraid of what’s waiting for you on the other side. You have no idea.”

“Shut it, Doggy.” Ramsay closed his eyes. “I’ve changed my mind. Being dead is boring, but not half as boring as talking with _you_.”

Theon’s body went back to its rhythmic jerking.

“We have the clear in Winterfell, sir.”

Jon barely registered the voice over the radio, or Seaworth’s reply. He was too focused on Theon’s face, contorting in pain.

_Just a little longer. Please hold on just a little longer._

 

***

 

One by one, and sometimes in bunches, the threads of light broke, snapping back to him like rubber bands. Theon instinctively knew what it meant. Somewhere, someone was taking care of the walkers. Putting them back in their graves. Putting them to rest.

The voices cried out in relief as they were freed, no longer tethered to their unnatural bodies.

Theon felt so incredibly warm and light. Like he could cut the tether keeping him tied to his body and just…float away with them. He wanted to be with them, where they were going. It was tempting. He wasn’t afraid of it anymore. He was done fighting. He was ready for peace.

 

***

 

“Alright, that’s the last of them.” Seaworth turned to the man operating the console. “Cut the power.”

In the chair, Theon’s body slumped forward. Jon rushed forward to stop him crashing into the ground. The weight was terrible on his knee, so he lowered the both of them to the floor as gently as he could, cradling Theon’s head on his lap.

He felt the pulse on his neck. Steady. Good sign.

He brushed the sweat-soaked hair back. “Theon?”

The eyes that opened were not Theon’s either. Someone else Jon knew well.

“That was a clever trick you played on me, Jon Snow,” Euron said, not moving a muscle. Lying like a dead man in Jon’s lap. “Using my nephew’s body against me. Well, turnabout’s fair play.”

“You can’t stay,” Jon said, repeating the same thing he’d told Ramsay.

Euron smirked. “Perhaps not. But I can take my nephew with me.”

Jon curled his lip in disgust. What a toothless threat. This was Euron’s last pathetic attempt to cause suffering, but it wasn’t going to work. “Theon,” he said. “Theon, come back. We did it. _You_ did it. You saved everyone. You can come back now.”

Euron shook his head. “He can’t hear you.”

Jon ignored him. “Theon!”

“You don’t understand, Jon Snow. He can’t _hear_ you.”

The body in his hands began jerking. Jon fought the urge to hold him tight, to be near him as he rode out the seizure. It took everything in him to sit back, watching helplessly as Theon’s body writhed. He’d gone through a handful of events like this, and always the sense of helplessness made him sick.

It was different this time, though. Theon’s head slammed against the concrete, and blood began trickling out of his nose. His nose and his ears.

Jon’s hands trembled and he looked to the military personnel for help. This wasn’t a seizure. It was a stroke or an aneurism or something. They couldn’t just do _nothing_.

The trickle turned into a full-blown stream as blood flowed freely down his face. The more he bled, the weaker his movements became, until he was still enough that Jon could rush in and once again gather up Theon’s head in his lap. He clung to him, gently slapping his cheeks to get him to respond, even as the medic team rushed in.

“Come on, come on, wake up.”

Someone tried to pull him away, and he didn’t know if he should go or not. He didn’t want to, he desperately didn’t want to, but what could he possibly do? He was about to let them lead him away to do their work, when Theon groaned and opened his eyes.

 

***

 

He wanted to go with the voices into the light, but someone else was reaching out to him, pulling him back. And that was even more welcoming. He allowed the hand to drag him back into the dark heaviness that was his body.

The light receded.

He woke up on the ground, sputtering blood. His pulse was pounding in his ears and Jon was staring down at him. Jon’s lips moved, but nothing came out. It didn’t matter. Theon knew his own name on Jon’s lips.

He smiled weakly. “Jon.” He couldn’t hear his own words, but he tried his best to make them correctly. “Told…you I’d…come back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow: the epilogue(s)


	41. Interlude: Afterwards, Elsewhere

_“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”_

_“Well, I must admit, when they told me I had a visitor, I wasn’t expecting… Please, do come in, Ms. Tyrell.”_

_“Dr. Qyburn.”_

_“What can I do for you, my dear?”_

_“I take it you heard what happened to Dr. Sparrow.”_

_“Ah, yes, messy business, that. Did they ever recover all the…er, pieces?”_

_“I’m not sure.”_

_“As I said, messy business. Well, I suppose he made his own bed.”_

_“It doesn’t concern you? You’re not in the least bit worried that something similar might happen to you?”_

_“Now, why would Lioness come after me? I’ve never even met her.”_

_“What of your test subjects?”_

_“My...? Oh, you believe that they bare me ill will. No, my dear, I don’t fear retribution from them. Dr. Sparrow lacked a fundamental respect for his projects and their powers. For all my faults, none of the subjects who underwent augmentation at my hands can say I didn’t respect them.”_

_“You have an odd notion of what respect is.”_

_“I never underestimated them, my dear. I never held them to anything lower than their greatest potential. If only all parents treated their children with such respect.”_

_“You really thought you were making the world a better place, didn’t you? Gods, it blows my mind. I can’t comprehend… It makes this a little less satisfying.”_

_“Satisfyi—?”_

_“I have my own ideas of how to make the world a better place. And I think the world would be a better place without people like you and your ‘respect’.”_

_“…”_

_“Shh. It will be over shortly, doctor. Perhaps you can spend our last minutes contemplating scientific theorems, but I’d much rather you think of all those you’ve hurt. My friends, Theon, Tyrion, Varys. And Sansa.”_

_“…”_

_“This is for her.”_

_“…”_

_“…”_

_“…”_

_“Guards! Come quickly. Dr. Qyburn has suffered a knife in his stomach.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the final epilogue.


	42. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, so many loose ends. I'm sure there are some I've forgotten about, so I apologize in advance.

Theon felt a hand on his own. He jerked around, realizing he’d been lost in his own thoughts. Even worse, he realized Jon had been calling to him. Seven months in and they were still both adjusting to his hearing loss. If Theon could see Jon’s mouth moving, and Jon could speak slowly and loudly enough, and there wasn’t too much noise in the background, then it wasn’t so bad. But in a crowded hospital wing, Theon had a better chance of hearing a mouse sneeze than whatever Jon had been trying to say.

“Sorry.”

“For the last time, stop apologizing,” Jon said. “I said, ‘Are you nervous?’”

“A little.”

Jon pulled a face at the lie. “About being a dad?”

Theon played with the ring on his finger. How could he say that, over the last seven months, the idea of being a father had...well, grown on him? He still very much had his doubts—what did fathers actually _do_? Good fathers, that is—but he was, dare he say, excited to get started.

No, what really worried him was being happy.

The last time he’d been this happy, last time he’d thought he was safe, Euron had come and taken everything from him. Now Euron was gone, just like Tywin Lannister and Roose Bolton and Ramsay Snow before him. But what if there were others still out there? People who wanted to hurt him or Jon or, God forbid, the baby. What if they never left them alone?

Instead he forced a weak smile. “Yeah.”

Jon smiled back and pulled him in for a hug. “Don’t worry. You’ll be a great dad.”

Theon felt awful, making Jon comfort him, when it should be the other way around. But it was better than voicing his worries and, in the process, making Jon worry more. So he allowed Jon to pull him down so he could rest his head on Jon’s shoulder, and they waited like that in silence for another interminable length of time.

Until the door opened and Jeyne appeared, carrying a bundle in her arms. “It’s a boy,” she said, handing the squalling infant to Jon, who eagerly reached to take it. “Healthy.”

Jon cradled the newborn in his arms. He was a natural at it. Theon, on the other hand, had never actually held a baby in his life. He was entranced by the look on Jon’s face, though. Soft and caring, with just a touch of visible uncertainty.

Jon looked up to ask Jeyne about Falia, and as Jeyne rattled off the answer Theon couldn’t quite hear, he took the opportunity to push the blanket aside with his thumb to catch a glimpse of the baby’s face. The first thing he noticed was that he had Jon’s eyes and a soft down of black hair on his head. As soon as their eyes locked, the baby stopped crying and just…stared.

Theon stared back, fascinated and terrified.

He didn’t even realize that Jon and Jeyne had stopped talking.

“Have you decided on a name?” Jeyne asked, loudly for Theon’s benefit.

“Robb,” Jon said. “His name is Robb.”

 

***

 

“Are you sure they’ll appreciate this?”

“Are you kidding?” Margaery said as she finished tying the last streamer in place. “They’ll love it.”

Sam frowned doubtfully but continued tying off balloons. Sansa had done a good job of picking the brightest colors, but even then, it didn’t have the effect Margaery had intended. She hadn’t realized how hard Dragonstone would fight to suck ever bit of color out of everything.

There was a knock on the double doors at the end of the dining hall, and Margaery’s heart leapt with fear that the guests of honor had arrived home early. But it was just Asha, not even waiting for anyone to open the doors for her, just pushing her way in while somehow also balancing the cake in one hand. “Ta-da!” she proclaimed, setting it on the table for everyone to admire.

Margaery stepped down from her ladder and hurried over to see what Asha had ordered for the party. It turned out to be a plain white-frosted cake with yellow icing proclaiming: Congratulations, It’s a Squid.

“It’s a squid?” Margaery asked.

“Yep.” Asha put her hands on her hips, quite pleased with herself. “They wouldn’t tell me if it were a boy or girl, so that’s what they get.”

“I like it,” Dany said. “Perfect for a new little Targaryen.”

“Are they going with Targaryen?” Gilly asked. “I thought they might go with Greyjoy. Or Stark.”

“Or, Gods forbid,” Sansa spoke up, “Targaryen-Greyjoy-Stark.”

“Not that they would go that route,” Sam said meekly, “but would the baby be a Snow or a Waters?”

“I’m not sure,” Margaery said, considering it. “But definitely not a Flowers.”

“No, definitely not.”

“Never.”

“Nuh-uh.”

A beat of uncomfortable silence, and Margaery regretted even bringing it up.

Luckily, the moment was broken when Jaime burst through the door. “Okay, Grey Worm just pulled up with the new parents. Brienne’s stalling for time, but she won’t be able to stop them for long.”

“Shit,” Margaery hissed. She thought they’d have more time to prepare. Oh well. She took a deep breath and a moment to brush her bangs out of her face before clapping her hands. “Okay, places, people!”

Everyone rushed to their proper locations.

“Ghost!” Sansa cried. “Where’s Ghost?”

“Over here!” Gilly called back. She grabbed hold of the dog’s collar, but he wouldn’t be pulled from his spot near the table, where he was eyeing the cake intently. “Would somebody help me?”

Asha tackled Ghost, who barked in protest.

“Keep quiet,” Jaime hissed. “I hear them on the stairwell.”

Margaery could hear their voices.

“Thanks, Brienne, but I’m awfully tired. I think we’re just going to put the baby down and turn in the night.”

_No, no_ , Margaery screamed in her head. _They need to come into the dining hall_.

“Are you sure?” Grey Worm’s voice said. “What have you eaten today?”

_Good man, Grey Worm_.

Asha and Ghost continued to wrestle, and Ghost let out a high-pitched howl.

The footsteps on the stairs stopped.

“What was that?”

“Is Ghost giving someone a hard time again?” A heavy sigh. “I’ll take care of him. Here, Theon, you take Robb.”

“Me? But I—”

There was some minor shuffling, and Margaery held her breath.

The doors creaked open.

“Ghost, are you—?”

“Surprise!” everyone screamed, more or less in unison.

Jon took a reeling step back before he’d even entered, blinked, shook his head.

Margaery ran up and grabbed hold of his hands. “Welcome home. Where’s the little guy?”

“Uh…”

Jon continued to look stunned, but Theon appeared at his side, holding a swaddled baby awkwardly in his arms. He took in the decorations, the food, their friends all gathered in one place. “How long have you guys been planning this?”

“Oh, a while,” Margaery admitted as they others came forward to offer their congratulations. “Well? Let’s see.”

Theon held the baby out to her, and she took it. It peered up at her with big grey eyes, and her heart melted. _I’ll have to get one of these for my own_. She caught the flash of Sansa’s red hair out of the corner of her eye as her girlfriend came up behind her and started making cooing sounds. _One day, at least._

“What a little sweetheart,” she said. “What’s the name?”

“Robb,” Jon answered.

Beside her, Sansa sniffled.

“Do you approve?” Jon asked.

Sansa wiped at her eyes. “Of course I do.” She smiled widely. “Can I hold him?”

Margaery handed Little Robb over.

As soon as the baby was in her arms, Sansa went stiff. “Uh-oh,” she murmured.

“Uh-oh?” Theon’s eyes went wide. “Why uh-oh? What’s wrong?”

Sansa gave him an apologetic smile. “The baby’s tingly.”

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read, commented, and left kudos. And who put up with my sporadic updates. I'll try to have my shit more together for the next one. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and concrit always welcome.


End file.
